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NANA. By Emile Z'»la. Ilis Great Realistic Novel of Life in Paris. 
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'FHE GIRL IN SCARLET. By Emile Zola, author of Nana.” 
NANA’S BRO'FHER; or, GERiVIINAL. By Emile Zola. 
L’ASSOMIROIR; or, NANA’S MOTHER. By Emile Zola. 
ALIUNE; or, FHE ABBE’S TEMP FA'FION. By Emile Zola. 
CRUEL AS 'PHE GRAVE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
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L E 



EVE, 


A chaste and powerful novels setting forth the career of a poor, abandoned 
young girl, who met with harsh experie'nces and kind friends. 




\ » 

AUTHOR OF “NANA," “ l’aSSOMMOIR,” “ LA TERKE, “CLAUDE's CONFESSION, 
“ POT-BOUILLE," “ THERESE RAQUIN^" “ HER TWO HUSBANDS," “ ALBTNE," 
“ NANA’s brother," “the girl in scarlet," “ MAGDALEN FERAT," 
“court of LOUIS NAPOLEON," “ RENEE; OR, IN THE WHIRLPOOL," 
“CHRISTINE, THE MODEL," “THE JOLLY PARISIENNES," “ HELENE," 

“the shop-girls of PARIS,” “THE JOYS OF LIFE," 

“a mad love," “ THE FLOWER GIRLS OF MARSEILLES," 

“ THE FLOWER AND MARKET GIRLS OF PARIS,*' ETC. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY GEORGE D. COX. 

I 


3 


“Le Reve," the latest novel from the pen of the world-famous Emile Zola, is a wide 
departure from the line he has heretofore followed with such conspicuous success. He 
himself describes it as an entirely pure romance fit for even the most innocent young girls 
to read, and there is certainly nothing in it that can shock or do harm. The novel is quaint 
both in style and matter, but is characterized by great power and interest. The plot deals 
with the experiences of a poor, deserted girl, who is saved from perishing in a severe 
snow-storm at the Saint Agnes door of the cathedral in Beaumont, a French country town, 
by the Huberts, chasuble-makers, and is brought up by them. This girl, Angelique-Marie, 
is seized with a fit of religious fervor from reading the mysteries of the Golden Legend, 
which colors her life. In this novel Zola confines hirnself to telling a plain story in a plain 
way, now and then bringing on the .scene a pathetic and touching incident well calculated 
to awaken all the sympathy of the reader. The characters are naturally and vividly 
drawn, and the language at times is quite poetic and beautiful. Le Reve" will 



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lilST OF E]fIII.E ZOILA’S GREAT REALISTIC WORKS. 

Petersons’ Original Translations from the French. 

Ea Terre. {The Soil.) By Emile Zo/a, author of “Nana,” “ I/Assorav-oir,’* 
“Christine, the Model,” etc. His Last and Greatest Work and Most Kealistic Novel. 


Kana. The Sequel to “ E’Assoinmoir.” By Emile Zola, author of 
“ Pot-Bouille,” “ L’Assommoir,” etc. With a portrait of “ Naua” on the cover. 


E’Assoinmoir. Brf Emile Zola^ author of “Nann,” “Pot-Bouille,” “Albino,” 
“ HeiejiO,” etc. With a portrait of “ Gei vaise,” the mother of “ Nana,” on the cover. 


The Shop Girls, or Sales-Eadaes^ of Paris; with their Life and 
E.\perieuces in a Large Dry Goods Store. By Emile Zo/a, autuor of Naua.” 


Christine, the Model; or. Studies of Eove. Describing Artist Life? 
with the Beautiful Models in Studios in Paris. By Enule Zola, author of “Naua.” 


Sana’s Brother. Stephen Lantier, the Son of “Gervaise” and “Lantier” of 
“L’Assommoir.” By Emue Zo^u, author of “Nuuu,” “ L'Assommuir,” etc. 


The Flower Girls of Marseille.s. By Emile ZoZo, author of “Naua.” 


The Mysteries of the Court of Ecnis Napoleon. By Emile Zolau 


The Flower and: Marhet Girls of Paris. By EmiXe Zola. 


The Joys of Eife. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assommoir ” etc. 


Pot-Bouille. By Emile Zola-,, author of “ Nana.” . With an Illustrated Cover. 


The Girt in Scarlet; or, Eoves of Silvero and Miette. B>) Zola. 


Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zlola, author of “ Nana ” and “ L’Assommoir.” 


Renee ; or, In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” etc. 


Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assf'ramoir,” etc. 


Albine; or, The Abbe’s Tc-mptation. ZoZa, author of “Nana.” 


A Mad Eove; or. The Abbe and His Court. By Emile Zola. 


Helene. A Talo of Lovo and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of “Nina.” 
Mag'dalen Ferat, By Emile Zia, author of “Nana” and “L'Assommoir.” 
Therese Raquin, By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” and “ L’Assomraoir.” 
Nana’s Banj^hter, Sequel to “Zola’s Naua,” With Portraits o-u tho Covar, 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter. Page. 

I. ANGELIQUE- MARIE 21 

II. THE GOLDEN LEGEND 88 

III. angelique’s wish 66 

IV. ON THE BALCONY 88 

V. FELICIEN 110 

VI. monseignedr’s mitre 132 

VII. IN angelique’s chamber 152 

VIII. the procession of the miracle 168 

« 

IX. A CRUEL SHOCK 188 

X. MONSEIGNEUR 206 

XI. angelique’s DESPAIR 223 

XII. THE VICTORY. . 244 

XIII. THE MIRACLE 259 

XIV. THE MARRIAGE. 276 

■ (19) 


READ THE NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 

*‘Ze Rcve/^ the new romance hij the loorhl-famons French novelist^ Emile Zola, is an unn^ 
molly striking and brilliant work. It will prove a decided surprise because it is as pure as it 
is absorbingly interesting. Like all Zola's other productions, its distinguishing characho isl ic 
is wonderf ul poiver, ivhile it develops the same rare knowledge of human nature ; but these are 
the limits of the similarity, for “Xe Reve " is a chaste idyl of life and love in one of the larger 
country towns of France, and while religious enthusiasm, passion, innocence and the super nat- 
ural are treated of, vice finds not so much as a solitary corner in the entire book. Ang- Uqne- 
Marie, the youthfid heroine, ivith her refreshing faith in miracles and the saints, her devotion 
to the quaint Golden Legend," and her ardent expectation of the prince-lover who is to come, 
is an adorable personage, and the story of her passion for the young and ivealthy Felicien of 
Hautecoeur is thoroughly fascinating from beginning to end. The cloistered life of Angtlique- 
Marie and the Huberts, the natural home pictures, the wash-day on the banks of the Chevrotte 
in the Clos-Marie, the p7'ocession of the miracle, the scenes in the old cathedral and the ancient 
legends of the Hautecoeurs, all unite in contributing a special and in'esistible chaimi to this truly 
dchijhtful novel. The characters are few, but very strongly drawn, and the plot, ivhile simple, 
is sufficiently effective for the author's purpose. As a naiwation of the innocent love of a pure 
young girl, “Le Rcve" has no superior in any language. It is one of Zola's best books, and 
cannot fail to excite the highest admiration of the thousands who will read it . — Press. 


‘*Le R'ive," Emile Zola's latest novel, is a ivide depaidure from his usual line of work. It 
is a thoroughly pure romance and as poweifid and absorbing as it is unobjectionable. Zola 
shoivs in its pages the same vast knowledge of the human heai’t and its emotions which have dis- 
tinguished his previous fictions, but in this charming book only the chaste side is looked upon. 

Le Rcve ” is a love story in the fullest sense of the term, but a love story which, while ardent 
and passionate in the highest degree, contains not a syllable calculated to bring a blush to the 
most modest cheek. It is the history of a poor young ghl, Angelique-Marie, a foundling, who 
is saved fi'om perishing in a severe snow-storm by the Huberts, a worthy couple loho are chasu- 
ble makers and embroiderers. She has a heritage of evil, but this is ovei-come by the Huberts, 
who bring her up as an embi’oiderer in the shadow of the old cathedral of Beaumont, There 
she reads ‘‘The Golden Legend,” and fomns a visionary idea of ivedding a prince -who shall 
come to her, dazzling in his xoealth, youth and beauty. A rich lover does come in the shape of 
Filicien, a son of the Bishop of Beauinont, bom befo)'e his father became a priest. Then the 
complications x>romptly begin and gradually incx’ease until the climax is reached. “ Le R"ve " 
has a delightful domestic element and is full of quaint and romantic episodes, in some of which 
the supe)'iiatural is drawn upon quite freely and in a way that adds vastly to the charm of the 
delicious and fascinating novel, while a religious flavor gives it additional attraciiveness. Al- 
most the entire action takes place in Beaumont. “Le Reve" will be moi'e extensively read than 
any of Zola's previous works, and will bring him an entb’ely new class of readers . — Tribune. 


“Zola's latest and most exquisite creation, ‘Le RSve,' says the Paris correspondemt to the 
‘New York World,' xvhich, xvith the piu'ity of its subject and the refinement of its treatment is 
sure to pacify all Academicians, and to make the ‘ man of Medan ' an ‘ immortal,' is in 
every hand in Paris, and is enjoying an enormous sale.” A complete and unabridged transla- 
tion of “Le Reve ” has beexi made from the French by George D. Cox, Esq., and is published 
by T. B. Peterson d: Brothers, Philadelphia, at the unprecedented low price of Twenty-fivi 
Cents a copy, and is fox' sale evex-y where. 


o 


L E R E V E 

(A NOVEL.) 

BY zoly. 

AUTHOR OF “NANA,” “ L’ASSOMMOIR,” “LA TERRE,” “CLAUDE’S CONFESSION,” 
“ POT-BOUILLE,” “ THERESE RAQUIN,” “ HER TWO HUSBANDS,” “ ALBINE,” 
“NANA’S BROTHER,” “THE GIRL IN SCARLET,” “MAGDALEN FERAT,” 
“COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON,” “ RENEE ; OR, IN THE WHIRLPOOL,” 
“CHRISTINE, THE MODEL; OR, STUDIOS IN PARIS,” “HELENE,” 

“THE SHOP-GIRLS OF PARIS” “THE JOYS OF LIFE,” 

“A MAD LOVE; OR, THE ABBE AND HIS COURT,” 

“THE FLOWER AND MARKET GIRLS OF PARIS,” 

“THE FLOWER GIRLS OF MARSEILLES,” 

“ THE JOLLY PARISIENNES,” ETC., ETC. 


.CHAPTER I. 

ANGELIQUE-MARIE. 

D uring the rough winter of 1860 the Oise froze, 
heavy snows covered the plains of Lower Picar- 
dy, and there came one storm, particularly, from the 
north-east, which almost buried Beaumont on Christmas 
Day. The snow, having begun to fall in the morning, 
redoubled towards evening and piled up during the 
whole night. In the upper town, into the Rue des 
Orfevres, at the end of which is found as if mortised in 

( 21 ) 




22 


LE REVE. 


the nortli facade of tlie cathedral transept, it swept, 
driven by the wind, and beat against the Saint Agnes 
door, the ancient Twelfth Century style almost Gothic 
door, profusely ornamented with sculpture beneath the 
bareness of the cope. At dawn the next day it lay 
there nearly three feet deep. 

The inhabitants of the street were yet sleeping, lazy 
after the previous day’s festivity. Six o’clock struck. 
Amid the darkness, to which the slow and stubborn fall 
of the snowflakes gave a bluish tinge, there was but one 
living, dimly- defined shape, a little girl nine years old^ 
who, having taken refuge under the arches of the door, 
had passed the night there shivering, sheltering herself 
as best she could. She was clad in a thin woolen gar- 
ment, worn to tatters, her head wrapped in a rag of 
foulard and her bare feet in the big shoes of a man. 
Without doubt she had stranded there only after having 
wandered about the town for a long while, for she was 
ready to fall from fatigue. For her it was the end of 
the world, no* longer anybody or anything, the final 
abandonment, gnawing hunger, killing cold ; and, in her 
weakness, stifled by the heavy weight of her heart, she 
had ceased to struggle ; she retained only the physical 
recoil, the instinct of changing place and shrinking 
against those old stones when a gale sent the snow 
whirling. 

Hour Sifter hour sped by. For a long while, between 
the double doors of the two twin doorways, she had 
stood with her back against the dividing wall, the pillar 
of which bears a statue of Saint Agnes, the martyr thir- 
teen years of age, a little girl like herself, with the palm 


23 


LE REVE. 

branch and a lamb at her feet. In the panel above the 
lintel the whole legend of the virgin child, betrothed to 
Jesus, is depicted in bold relief with genuine faith: her 
hair which came down and clothed her when the gov- 
ernor, whose son she had refused, sent her nude to the 
evil places ; the flames of the burning pile which, 
drawing aside from her limbs, burned the executioners 
as soon as they had lighted the wood ; the miracles per- 
formed by her bones; Constance, the daughter of the 
emperor, cured of leprosy, and the miracles of one of her 
painted figures ; the priest Paulin, tormented by the need 
of taking a wife, presenting, by the advice of the Pope, 
the ring set with an emerald to the image, which put out 
its finger and then withdrew it, keeping the ring which 
is still seen upon it, which delivered Paulin. At the top 
of the panel, in a glory, Agnes is finally received into 
Heaven, where her betrothed Jesus weds her, so tiny and 
so young, giving her the kiss of eternal joy. 

But, when the wind swept through the street, the 
snow lashed the front of the structure and white sheets 
threatened to bar the threshold; then the child stood out 
of the way at the sides, against the virgins placed above 
the stylobate of the inner widening of the doorwaj^s. 
They are the companions of Agnes, the saints who serve 
as her escort: three on her right — Dorothee, fed in 
prison with miraculous bread ; Barbe, who lived in a 
tower; Genevieve, whose virginity saved Paris; and 
three on her left — Agathe, with her breasts twisted and 
torn away; Christine, tortured by her father and who 
threw pieces of her flesh in his face; Cecile, Avho was 
loved by an angel. Above these more virgins yet, three 


24 


LE REVE. 


compact ranks of virgins ascend witli tlie arcs of the 
doorway tops, adorn the three arches with a bloom of 
triumphant and chaste flesh, martyrized here below, 
braised by torments, on high received by a flight of 
cherubim, filled with ecstasy in the midst of the celestial 
court. 

And for some time nothing had protected the child any 
longer when eight o’clock struck and the light increased. 
If she had not tramped down the snow it would have 
mounted to her shoulders. The ancient door, behind her, 
was tapestried with it, as if hung with ermine, as white 
as an altar, at the bottom of the gray fa9ade, so bare aiid 
so smooth that not a flake clung to it. The tall saints 
of the inner widening of the doorway particularly were 
clad with it, from their white feet to their white locks, 
sparkling with purity. Further up, the scenes of the 
panel, the little saints of the arches stood out in bold 
relief, designed with a dash of brightness upon the 
sombre background ; and so as far as the final ecstasy, 
the marriage of Agnes, which the archangels seemed to 
celebrate beneath a shower of white roses. Standing 
upon its pillar, with its white palm branch and its white 
lamb, the statue of the virgin child had a white purity, 
an immaculate snow body, in that motionless rigidity of 
the cold, which froze about it the mystic rapture of vic- 
torious virginity. And, at its feet, the other, the miser- 
able child, white with snow also, stiff and white to that 
extent that she seemed turned to stone, was no longer 
distinguishable from the tall virgins. 

Meanwhile, along the silent house fronts, a window 
shutter which was thrown open with a bang made her 


LE RferE. 


25 


lift her eyes. It was to her right, in the second-story of 
the house adjoining the cathedral. A very handsome 
w^ornan, a dark brunette, of about forty years, having the 
correct serenity of a mai’ble image, had leaned out; and, 
despite the terrible cold, she for a minute left her bare 
arm outside, having seen the child stir. A look of piti- 
ful astonishment saddened her calm visage. Then, with 
a shiver she shut the window again. She bore away 
with her the fleet vision, beneath the rag of foulard, of 
a small blonde girl, with violet lined eyes, her face 
elongated, her neck especially very long, of the elegance 
of a lily, upon sloping shoulders ; but blue with cold, 
her little hands and her little feet half-dead, no longer 
having anything living about her but the light vapor of 
her breath. 

The child had mechanically kept her eyes in the air, 
looking at the house, a very old two-story house, built 
towards the close of the Fifteenth Century. It was sealed 
into the very side of the cathedral, between two sup- 
porting walls, like a wart which had grown between the 
two toes of a colossus. And, supported thus, it Avas 
admirably preserved, with its base of stone, its upper 
story in sections of wood, garnished with visible bricks, 
its roof the framework of which projected a metre 
beyond the gable-end, and its salient stairway turret in 
the left-hand corner, the narrow window of wliich yet 
contained the lead sheathing of the time. Age, how- 
ever, had necessitated repairs, and the covering of tiles 
dated from Louis XIV.; one easily recognized the work 
done about that epoch : a dormer window pierced in the 
pinnacle of tiie turret, little wooden frames everywhere 


26 


LE REVE. 


replacing those of tlie primitive panes, and the three 
window openings made in the second-story, rednced to 
two, that of the middle stopped up with bricks, which 
gave the front the uniformity of the other and more 
recent buildings of the street. On the ground floor the 
modifications were also plainly visible : a door of moulded 
oak in place of the old iron door beneath the stairwaj^^, 
and the grand central archway, of which the bottom, 
the sides and the point had been walled up so as to have 
but one rectangular opening, a sort of broad window, 
instead of the ogive window which in the past looked 
out upon the sidewalk. 

Devoid of thought, the child was still gazing at this 
neatly kept master artisan’s venerable dwelling, and was 
I'cading a yellow sign nailed to the left of the door, bear- 
ing these words: Hubert, Chasublier,” in old black let- 

ters, when again the noise of a shutter flung back 
attracted her attention. This time it was the shutter 
of the square window on the ground floor. A man in 
his turn leaned out, with an uneasy visage, a nose like 
an eagle’s beak and a knobby forehead, crowned with 
thick hair already white, although he was scarcely forty- 
five; and he also devoted a minute to examining her, 
with a wrinkle of pain about his big, tender mouth. 
Afterwards she saw him standing behind the little, gTeen- 
ish panes. He turned, made a gesture and his handsome 
wife reappeared. Both of them remained motionless 
side by side and, with a profoundly sad air, k^pt their 
eyes fixed upon her. 

For four hundred years the line of the Huberts, 
embroiderers from father to son, had dwelt in that 


LE REVE. 


27 - 


hoiise. A master chasuble maker had built it under 
Louis XI.^ another had repaired it under Louis XIY., 
and the present Hubert embroidered chasubles there like 
all the rest of his race. At twenty he had loved a 
young girl of sixteen, Hubertine, with such a passion 
that, on the refusal of her mother, the widow of a mag- 
istrate, he had abducted and then married her. She Avas 
marvelously beautiful ; this was all their romance, their 
joy and their misfortune. When, eight months later, 
being in a delicate situation, she came to the death-bed 
of her mother, the latter disinherited and cursed her, so 
the infant, which was born the same evening, died. And 
since, in her coffin in the cemetery, the obstinate woman 
had not yet pardoned, for the couple had had no other 
child despite their ardent desire. After twenty-four 
years they still wept for the one they had lost ; they 
now despaired of ever softening the dead mother. 

Troubled by their glances, the little girl had again 
crept back of the pillar of Saint Agnes. She was also 
disturbed by the awakening of the street: shops had 
opened and people had begun to come out. This Rue 
des Orffivres, the extremity of which runs up against the 
lateral fagade of the church, would be a perfect blind 
alley, stopped on the .side of the arch by the house of the 
Huberts, if the Rue Soleil, a narrow lane, did not free it 
from the other side by running along the collateral as 
far as the main facade on the Place du Cloitre ; and two 
devotees passed Avho glanced in surprise at the little 
beggar who was a stranger to them in Beaumont. The 
slow and persistent fall of the snow continued and the 
cold seemed to increase with the wan light; only a dis- 


23 


LE REVE. 


tant noise of voices was heard, deadened by the thick- 
ness of the huge white winding-sheet which covered the 
town. 

Maddened, and ashamed of her abandonment as of a 
fault, the child was drawing still further back Avhen, sud- 
denly, she saw Ilubertine, who, having no servant, had 
come out for bread, standing in front of her. 

‘‘Little one, what are you doing there? Who are 
vou ? ” 

t/' 

She did not answer, but hid her face. Her limbs no 
longer had feeling in them ; she was about to faint, as if 
her heart was being frozen and ceasing to beat. W^hen 
the good woman had turned her back, with a gesture of 
discreet pity, she sank upon her knees in exhaustion 
and fell like a rag into the snow, the flakes silently com- 
mencing to bury her. As Ilubertine was returning 
with her warm' bread, she saw her lying on the ground 
and again approached her. 

“ See here, little one, you can’t stay where you are.” 

Then Hubert, who had also come out and was stand- 
ing at the door of the house, relieved her of the bread, 
saying: 

“Take her up and carry her in.” 

Ilubertine, without a word, stooped and took her in 
her strong arms. Tlie child did not shrink from her and 
was borne away like an inanimate thing, her teeth 
clenched, her eyes closed, as cold as ice and as light 
as a little bird fallen from its nest. 

They went into the house and Hubert closed the door, 
while Ilubertine, her burden in her arms, crossed the 
room on the street, which served as a parlor and in which 


LE KEVE. 


29 


several pieces of embroidery were displayed at the big 
square window. Then she passed into the kitchen, the 
ancient common room, preserved almost intact, with its 
visible beams, its floor mended in twenty places and its 
vast chimney with a stone mantelpiece. The utensils on 
the shelves, pots, kettles and pans, of old faience, stone- 
ware and pewter, dated back one or two centuries. But 
a modern stove, a large cast-iron cooking stove, the cop- 
per equipment of which shone, occupied the hearth. It 
was red hot and water could be heard boiling in a pot. 
A pan, full of coffee and milk, was keeping warm on one 
of the holes. 

“ Fichtre ! it’s more comfortable here than outside ! ” 
said Hubert, putting the bread on a substantial Louis 
XIII. table which occupied the centre of the room. 
“ Put that poor little thing beside the stove that she may 
thaw.” 

Hubertine seated the child and both of them watched 
her recover consciousness. The snow on her garments 
melted and fell in heavy drops. Through all the rents 
of the big masculine shoes her bruised little feet could be 
seen, while the thin woolen dress showed the rigidity of 
her limbs, her pitiful body marked by want and suffer- 
ing. She gave a long shiver and opened her eyes wildly, 
with the start of an animal which awakes to find itself 
caught in a trap. She thrust her face into the rag tied 
under her chin. They thought her right arm disabled, 
so motionless did she hold it against her breast. 

“ Keassure yourself ; we don’t want to do you any 
harm. Where are you from? Who are you ? ” 

As they talked to her she grew more frightened, 


80 


LE r£vE. 


turning her head as if some one stood behind her ready 
to beat her. She glanced furtively around the kitchen, 
examining the floor, the beams and the shining utensils ; 
then her glance strayed outside through the two irregular 
windows left in the ancient opening, searched the garden 
as far as the ti’ees of the bishop’s house, the white forms 
of which overtopped the wall at the back, and she 
seemed astonished to find the cathedral there, with the 
Twelfth Century windows of the chapels of its arch, to 
the left, along an alley. And again she gave a great 
shiver, under the influence of the heat of the stove, 
which had begun to penetrate her ; then she brought 
back her eyes to the floor and did not stir again. 

“ Do you belong in Beaumont ? Who is your father ? ” 
As she remained silent, Hubert thought that she was, 
jierhaps, too hungry to reply. 

Instead of questioning her,” said he, we would do 
better to give her a cup of good warm coffee and milk.” 
This was so reasonable that at once Hubertine gave 
her her own cup. While she was cutting her two large 
slices of bread the child was suspicious and still drew 
away from her; but the torture of hunger proved loo 
strong for her and she ate and drank greedily. That 
they might not trouble her the husband and wife re- 
mained silent, greatly affected to see her little hand 
tremble so that she could scarcely get it to her mouth. 
And she used her left hand only, her right arm remaining 
persistently glued to her body. When she had finished 
she nearly broke the cup, which she awkwardly caught. 

“Is your arm hurt? ” asked Hubertine. “Show it to 
us, my dear ; don’t be afraid ! ” 


LE EEVE. 


81 


But, as slie touched it, the child sprang up and vio- 
lently defended herself ; in the struggle she moved the 
arm and a small pasteboard covered book, which she had 
hidden against her very skin, slipped through a tear in 
her dress. She strove to recover it and stood with both 
her fists clenched angrily on seeing that these unknown 
people had opened and were reading it. 

It was a pupil’s book, delivered by the “Administra- 
tion des Enfants Assistes” of the Department of the 
Seine. On the first page, beneath a medallion of Saint 
Vincent de Paul, the forms were printed : Name of the 
Pupil, and a simple stroke of ink filled the blank ; then, 
in the space for first names, those of Angelique-Marie ; 
and in the lines for dates, “Born January 22, 1851, 
admitted the 23d of the same month, under the regis- 
tered number 1634.” Hence her father and mother wei'O 
unknoAvn ; she had no paper, not even a birth certificate, 
nothing but this little book of an administrative cold- 
ness, with its pale pink pasteboard cover. She wns 
nobody and had an asylum book, abandonment numbered 
and. classified. 

“ Oh 1 a foundling ! ” cried Ilubertine. 

Then Angelique spoke in a mad burst of rage. 

“ I am worth more than all the others ! Yes ! lam 
better, better, better I I never stole anything from the 
others and they all robbed me I Give me back what you 
have stolen from me ! ” 

% 

Such impotent pride, such a passion to be the strong- 
est shook her little woman’s body that the Huberts were 
amazed. They no longer recognized the blonde child, 
with violct-liued eyes and long neck, with the grace of a 


82 


LE REVE. 


lily. The eyes had turned black in the wicked face and 
the sensual neck was swollen with a rush of blood. 
Now that she was warm she raised herself up and hissed 
like an adder picked up from the snow. 

“So you are bad, eh?’’ said the embroiderer, gently. 
“ It’s for your good, if we want to know who you are.” 

And over his wife’s shoulder he ran through the book, 
the leaves of which she was turning. On the second 
page was the name of the nurse. “The infant Ange- 
lique-Marie was entrusted January 25, 1851, to the nurse 
Frangoise, wife of Sieur llamelin, by profession a farmer, 
dwelling in the Commune of Soulanges, Arrondissement 
of Nevers; which nurse received at the moment of 
departure pay for the first month’s nourishment, besides 
an outfit.” A certificate of baptism followed, signed by 
the almoner of the “Hospice des Enfants Assistes”; 
then came doctors’ certificates on the departure and arri- 
val of the child. The payments for the months, every 
quarter, filled further along the columns of four pages, 
attached to which each time was the illegible signature 
of the percepteur. 

“What, Nevers!” demanded Ilubertine, “it was near 
Nevers that you were raised?” 

Angelique, red at not being able to prevent them from 
reading, had fallen back into her fierce silence. But 
anger unlocked her lips and she spoke of her nurse. 

“ Ah 1 very sure Mamma Nini would have beaten you! 
She defended me, though she gave me slaps sometimes 
herself. Ah ! very sure I wasn’t so unhappy down there 
with the animals.” 

Her voice was choked; she continued to talk in 


LE HEVE. 


83 


broken, incoherent phrases of the meadows to which she 
had driven La Kousse, of the great highway on which 
they played, of the cakes they cooked, and of a big dog 
which had bitten her. 

Hubert interrupted her, reading aloud : 

“In case of grave sickness or bad treatment, the 
under-inspector is authorized to change the children's 
nurses.” 

Underneath this was written that the infant Ange- 
lique-Marie had been entrusted June 20, 1860, to 
Therese. wife of Louis Franchomme, both florists, residing 
in Paris. 

“Good! I understand,” said Hubertine. “You have 
been sick and they brought you back to Paris.” 

But it was not that, and the Huberts only learned the 

whole story by drawing it bit by bit from Angelique. 

Louis Franchomme, who was the cousin of Mamma 

Nini, had been forced to return to his villa<>e for a 

month in order to recover from a fever, and it was then 

0 

that his wife, Therese, conceiving a great affection for 
the child, had obtained permission to take her to Paris, 
where she engaged to teach her how to become a florist. 
Three montlis later lier husband died and, very ill her- 
self, she was obliged to return to the home of herbrotlier, 
the tanner Eabier, established at Beaumont. There she 
died in the early part of December, entrusting to her 
sister-in law the little girl, who, since that time, insulted 
and beaten, had suffered martyrdom. 

“ The Eabiers,” murmured Hubert, “ theEabiers ! Yes, 
yes, tanners on the bank of the Ligneul in the lower 

town. The husband drinks and the wife leads a bad lile.” 

2 


34 : 


LE BEVE. 


“ They treated rne like a child of the street,” pursued 
Ang^lique, disgusted, eui'aged with sufieriiig pride. 
‘‘They said that the gutter was good enough for me ! 
AVhen she had beaten me, the woman threw scraps on 
the ground for me, as she did for lier cat, and often I 
went to bed without eating anything at all. Ah ! I 
should have killed myself at last ! ” 

She had a look of furious despair. 

“ Christmas morning — yesterday — they drank and fell 
upon me, threatening to dig my eyes out with their 
thumbs for amusement. Then, as that did not succeed, 
they fought each other ‘so terribly that they fell down in 
the chamber and I thought they both were dead. For a 
long Avhile I had resolved to escape. But I Avanted rny 
book. Mamma Nini had sometimes shown it to me, say- 
ing : ‘You see, that’s all you possess, for, if you had not 
tliat, you would have nothing.’ And I knew where 
they hid it, since the death of Mamma Ther^se, in the 
top drawer of the bureau. Then, I sprang over them, 
got my book and ran, pressing it under my arm against 
my skin. It Avas too big ; I imagined that evei’ybody 
saw it and was going to steal it from me ! Oh ! I ran, I 
rani and Avheh it got dark night I was cold in that 
doorway — oh ! I was so cold that I thought I Avas dead ! 
But that’s nothing; I did not let go of the book and 
there it is ! ” 

And, with a sudden spring, as the Huberts had closed 
it to return it to her, she snatched it from them. Then, 
sitting down, she threw herself on the table, holding it 
- in her hands and sobbing, her cheek against the pale 
pink cover. A frightful attack of humility had broken 


LE REVE. 


85 


down her pride, her entire being seemed to have melted 
in the bitterness of those few pages with worn edges, 
of that poor thing, which was her treasure, the sole bond 
which attached her to the life of the world. She could not 
empty her heart of such great despair ; her tears flowed, 
flowed ceaselessly; and, beneath this prostration, she had 
recovered her pretty blonde, childish face, purity itself, 
of a somewhat elongated oval, her violet eyes paled by 
tenderness and the delicate bend of her neck, which 
made her resemble a little virgin of a stained glass win- 
dow. Suddenly she seized Hubertine’s hand ; she glued 
her lips, greedy for caresses, to it and kissed it passion- 

The Huberts were greatly affected by this; they mut- 
tered, ready to weep themselves. 

“ Dear, dear child 1 

So she was not altogether bad! Perhaps they could 
cure her of that violence which had frightened them. 

“Oh! I beg you not to take me back to tlicml’^ 
sobbed she. “Don’t take me back!’’ 

The husband and wife glanced at each other. It so 
happened that since autumn they had been thinking 
of taking a resident apprentice, some little girl who 
would brighten up the house, so saddened by their regret 
at not having children. And the matter was decided on 
the instant. 

“ Shall we take her? ” asked Hubert. 

« 

Ilubertine replied without haste, in her calm voice : 

“ Yes ! ” 

Immediately they saw to the formalities. The em- 
broiderer related the matter to the Judge of the Peace 



36 


LE REVE. 


of the North Canton of Beaumont, M. Grandsire, who 
was a cousin of his wife, the only relative she had ; and 
the latter took everything upon himself, wrote to the 
“Assistance Publique,’’ where Angelique was easily 
recognized, thanks to the registered number, and ob- 
tained permission for her to remain as apprentice with 
the Huberts, whose honesty was well-known. The 
under-inspector of the arroiidissement, when he came to 
regulate the book, made the contract with the new 
employer, by which the latter was to treat the child 
kindly, keep her clean, send her to school and the parish 
church and furnish her with a bed in which she could 
sleep alone. On its side, the Administration engaged to 
pay him the indemnities and deliver him the clothing, 
according to the rule. 

In ten days all was arranged. Angdlique slept up- 
stairs in the garret chamber, which looked out upon the 
garden ; and she had already taken her first lessons in 
embroidery. On Sunday morning, prior to taking her to 
mass, Hubertine opened before her the old trunk in the 
workroom, in which she locked up the fine gold. She 
held the book in her hand; she placed it in the bottom 
of a drawer, saying : 

“Look where it is put. I don’t want to hide it, so 
that you can get it if you wish. That’s better than for 
you to steal it I Remember where it is! ” 

That morning, on entering the church, Angelique again 
found herself beneath the Saint Agnes doorway. There 
had been a slight thaw during the week ; then the cold 
had set in once more, so severe that the half-melted snow 
on the scrulptures had frozen in a host of bunches and 


LE REVE. 


87 


needles. It was now one sheet of ice — transparent robes, 
with crystal lace, which clad the virgins. Dorothea 
held a torch, the limpid flow of which was falling from 
her hands; Cecile wore a silver crown from which 
trickled sparkling pearls ; and Agatlie, over her breast 
torn by the pincers, Avas sheathed in crystal armor. Tlie 
scenes of the panel and the little virgins of the arches 
seemed to have been as they were for centuries — behind 
the glass and gems of a gigantic shrine. Agnes had a 
trailing court-mantle, served with light and embroidered 
Avith stars. Her lamb had a fleece of diamonds and her 
j^ahn branch had acquired the hue of the sky. The 
Avhole door shone in the purity of the biting cold. 

Angelique called to mind the night she had passed 
there under the protection of the virgins. She raised 
her head and smiled upon them. 


88 


LE REVE. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

B eaumont is composed of two towns completely 
separate and distinct: Beaumont-Pfiglise, upon 
the height, with its old cathedral of the Twelfth Century, 
its bishop’s house which dates only from the Seventeenth, 
and its population of scarcely a thousand souls, packed, 
stifled in the depths of its narrow streets ; and Beaumont- 
la-ville, at the foot of the height, upon the border of the 
Ligneul, a former faubourg which the prosperity of its 
lace and batiste factories has enriched and enlarged until 
it counts nearly ten thousand inhabitants and has spa- 
cious squares and a pretty sous-prefecture of modern 
taste. The two cantons, the north canton and the south 
canton, have thus not much more between them than 
administrative relations. . Although but thirty leagues 
from Paris, whither one can go in two hours, Beaumont- 
rfiglise still seems walled in its ancient ramparts, of 
wdiich, however, but three gates remain. A stationary, 
special population leads there the same existence which 
their ancestors led from father to son for five hundred 
years. 

The cathedral explains everything; it has given birth 
to and preserved all. It is tlie mother, the queen, enor- 
mous amid the little heap of low houses, like a chilly 
covey sheltered beneath its wings of stone. The people 
live there only for it and by it ; the factories work and 


39 


LE REVE. 

the shops sell but to feed it, clothe it and keep it — it 
and its clergy; and if one meets there some of the bour- 
geois, they are the last devotees of the vanished crov/ds. 
It beats in the centre, each street is one of its veins and 
the town has no other breath than its breath. Hence 
that soul of another age, that religious numbness in the 
past, that cloistered town which surrounds it, still odor- 
ous with an old perfume of peace and faith. 

And, of all the nyystic town, the Huberts’ dwelling, 
where for the future Angeliqiie was to live, was the clos- 
est to the cathedral, of its vejy flesh. The authorization 
to build there, between two counter- forts, must have been 
accorded by some cure of the past, desirous of attaching 
the ancestor of that line of embroiderers as master chasu- 
blier, furnisher of the sacristy. On the southern side 
the colossal mass of the church barred the narrow gar- 
den : first, the circumference of the lateral chapels, the 
windows of which opened upon the flower-beds ; 
then, the projected body of the nave which was sup- 
ported by pillars; and, then, the vast roof covered Avith 
sheets of lead. Hever did the vsun penetrate to the 
depths of this garden; ivy and box alone grew vigor- 
ous! v there; and the eternal shade was, nevertheless, 
very agreeable there, fallen from the gigantic ridge of 
the arch, a religious shade, sepulchral and pure, which felt 
good. In the greenish half-light, of a calm coolness, the 
two towers let fall only the sound of their bells. But 
the entire house preserved the quiver of it, sealed to 
those old stones, melted into them and living on their 
blood. It trembled at the slightest ceremonies; the 
grand masses, the roar of the organs, the voices of the 


40 


LE REVE. 


choristers and even the oppressed sighs of the faithful 
buzzed in each one of its rooms, soothed it with a holy 
breath, come from the invisible ; and through the warm 
wall sometimes vapors of incense seemed to smoke. 

Angelique, for five years, grew up there, as in a 
cloister, far from the world. She went out only on Sun- 
day, to go to hear the seven o’clock mass, Hubertine 
having obtained permission not to send her to the school, 
where she feared evil company. That antique and 
cramped dwelling, with its garden of a dead peace, was 
her universe. She occupied a white-washed chamber up 
under the roof ; she came down-stairs in the morning to 
breakfast in the kitchen ; she went to the work-room in 
the second-story to work ; and these were, with the 
stone stairAvay turning in its tower, the only nooks in 
which she lived, the venerable nooks, preserved from 
age to age, for she never entered the chamber of the 
Huberts, and scarcely did more than pass through the 
lower salon, the two rooms rejuvenated in the style of the 
period. In the salon, the joists had been plastered; a 
cornice adorned with little palms and accompanied by a 
central rose ornamented the ceiling; the paper, covered 
with big yellow flowers, dated from the First Empire, as 
also did the mantelpiece of Avhite marble and the 
mahogany furniture — a table, a sofa and four arm-chairs 
upholstered in Utrecht velvet. On the rare occasions 
. -when she went there to renew the display of goods, a 
few* strips of embroidery hung in front of the window, 
if she cast a glance without, she saw the same eternal 
view, the street running up against the Saint-Agnes 
door : a devotee pushed open the leaf of the door, which 


LE EEVE, 


41 


closed again noiselessly ; the sliops of the goldsmitli and 
wax-chandler opposite, witli their rows of holy pyxes 
and their huge Avax candles, always seemed empty. And 
the monastic peace of all Beaumont-rfiglise, of the Eue 
Magloire behind the bishop’s house, of the Grand ’Rue 
Avhere the Rue des OHbvres came out, and of the Place 
du Cloitre where stood the two towers, was felt in the 
drowsy air and fell slowly with the pale light on the 
deserted pavement. 

llubertine had charged herself with completing *» 
Angelique’s education. She held to the old opinion 
that a woman knows enough when she can spell and is 
acquainted with the four rules. But she had to struggle 
against the child’s great disinclination, as Angelique per- 
sisted in lookins* out of the windows, though the recrea- 
tion was but slight for they opened upon the garden. 
Angelique did not care for much except reading; despite 
tiie dictations, taken from a choice classic, she never suc- 
ceeded in spelling a page correctly; and she had, never- 
theless, a pretty handwriting, slanting and firm, one of 
those irregular hands of the great ladies of the past. For 
the rest, geography, history and arithmetic, her ignor- 
ance was complete. Of what good was science ? It was 
altogether useless. Later,, at the time of the first com- 
munion, she learned her catechism word for word with 
such an ardor of faith that she astonished everybody b}’' 
the reliability of her memory. 

The first year, in spite of their gentleness, the Huberts 
had often despaired. Angelique, who gave promise of 
becoming a very expert embroiderer, disconcerted them 
by sudden fits of inexplicable idleness, after days of ex- 


42 


LE UEVE. 


emplary application. Slie all at once grew lazy, glut- 
toiiish, stealing tlie sugar, her eyes having a black and 
blue look in her red lace ; and if she was scolded, she 
burst out with wicked responses. On certain daj^s, 
when they strove to conquer her, she reached veritable 
crises of proud madness, stiffened, kicking and striking, 
ready to tear and to bite. Then fear made them recoil 
betore this little monster; they were terrified by the 
devil which was raging within her. Who was she? 
Whence came she? d’hese foundlings almost always 
spring from vice and crime. Twdce they had resolved 
to get rid of her, to send her back to the Administration 
grieved, regretting having taken her. But, each time, 
these frightful scenes, which le(‘t the house in a ferment, 
ended with the same deluge of tears, the same wild re- 
pentance, which threw the child upon the floor with 
such a desire for punishment that they were forced to 
forgive her. 

Little by little Hubertine obtained authority over her. 
She was exactly fitted for this education, with the good 
nature of her soul, her strong and gentle air and her up- 
right mind of a perfect equilibrium. She tauglit her 
duty and obedience, which she opposed to passion and 
jiride. To obey was to live. It was necessaiy to obey 
God, parents and superiors, a whole hierarchy of re- 
spect, in default of wdiich existence was unhinged and 
spoiled. Hence, at each revolt, to teach her humility, she 
imposed upon her as a penance some rough work, such 
as wiping the pots and kettles or scrubbing up the 
kitchen; and she remained there until the end, keeping 
her beat over the floor, enraged at first but conquered at 


LE REVE. 


43 


last. Slie was also disturbed by tlie cliild’s love, by the 
suddenness and violence of her caresses. Many times she 
had surprised her kissing her hands. She saw her get 
into a fever for images, little engravings of holiness, pic- 
tures of Jesus which she had collected ; then, one evening, 
she found her in a swoon, with tear-stained face, herlips 
glued to the images. There was another terrible scene 
when she confiscated them, cries, tears, as if her skin 
were being torn from her ; from that time, she held 
her sternly in check, no longer tolerating these out-bursts, 
overwhelming her with work, making it silent and 
cold around her as soon as she noticed that the child was 
becoming excited, with wild eyes and burning cheeks. 

Besides, Hubert! ne had discovered an aid in the book 
of the Assistance Publique. Each quarter, when the 
])ercepteur signed it, Angelique remained gloomy until 
evening. A pain shot through her heart, if, by chance, 
on taking a bobbin of gold thread from the trunk, she 
perceived it. And, one day of furious wickedness, when 
nothing had been able to conquer her and she had upset 
everything in the bottom of the drawer, she had sud- 
denly been quelled by the sight of the little book. 
Choking with sobs, she had cast herself at the feet of 
the Huberts, humbling herself, murmuring that they had 
done very wrong to take her in and that she did not 
deserve to eat their bread. Since that day, the thought 
of the book had often restrained her in her fits of rage. 

It was- thus that Angelique attained her twelfth year, 
the age of the first communion. The calm surroundings, 
that small house slumbering in the shadow of the cathe- 
dral, balmy with incense and quivering with canticles, 


44 


LE llEVE. 


favored the gradual amelioration of this sayage shoot, 
torn from one knew not where and replanted in the 
mystic soil of the narrow garden ; and there were also the 
regular life led, the daily toil and the ignorance of the 
world, without even an echo penetrating there from 
the somnolent quarter. But the mildness, above all, 
came from the great love of the Huberts, which seemed 

I 

as if enlarged by an incurable remorse. The husband 
passed his days in striving to efface from his wife’s mem- 
ory the wrong he had done her in marrying her against 
her mother’s will. He had cleai*ly seen, at the death of 
their infant, that she accused him of that punishment, 
and he had striven to obtain pardon. He had long since 
obtained it; she adored him. He doubted it sometimes 
and that doubt made his life desolate. To be certain 
that the dead woman, the obstinate mother, had allowed 
herself to be touched beneath the ground, he still wished 
to have a child. Their sole desire was this child of 
pardon; Hubert lived at the feet of his wife in worship, 
one of those conjugal passions as ardent and chaste as a 
constant betrothal. If, before the a]'pi-entice, he did not 
even kiss her, he did not enter their chamber, after 
twenty years of housekeeping, without experiencing the 
reverence of a young husband for his bride. That 
chamber was discreet, with its white and gray paint, 
its paper with blue bouquets and its walnut furniture 
upholstered in cretonne. Never did a sound emerge 
from it, but it was redolent of devotion, it warmed 
the entire house. And it was for Angelique a bath 
of affection, in which she grew up very passionate and 
very pure. 


LE REVE. 


45 


A book completed the work. As she was rummaging 
one morning, searching npon a shelf in the vvorkroum, 
covered with dust, she discovered, among some worn-out 
embroidery implements, a very old copy of Jacques 
de Yoragine’s “ Golden Legend.” This French transla- 
tion, dated 1549, must have been bought in the past by 
some master chasublier for the engravings, which were 
full of useful information concerning the saints. For a 
long while she herself was not much interested save by 
these pictures, these ancient wood-cuts of an unquestion- 
ing faith, which delighted her. As soon as she was 
allowed to plaj’’, she took the quarto, bound in yellow calf, 
and slowly turned over the leaves : first, the false title, 
red and black, with the address of the publisher, “At 
Paris, in the Kue Neufve Nostre-Dame at the sign of 
Saint Jehan Baptiste;” then, the title, flanked by medal- 
lions of the four evangelists, enframed at the bottom by 
the adoration of the three wise men, and at the top by 
the triumph of Jesus Christ treading bones under foot. 
And afterwards the pictures succeeded each other, orna- 
mented letters, large and medium-sized engravings in the 
text, relating to the matter on the pages : the Annuncia- 
tion, an immense angel inundating with sunbeams an 
exceedingly slender Mary; the Massacre of the Inno- 
cents, the cruel Herod amid a heap of little corpses; the 
Manger, Jesus between the Virgin and Saint Joseph, who 
held a wax candle ; Saint John, the Almoner, giving to 
the poor; Saint Mathias breaking an idol; Saint Nicho^ 
las, dressed in a bishop’s robes, having on his right some 
babies in a tub; and all the female saints, Agnes, with 
her neck pierced by a sword; Christine, with her breasts 


46 


LE REVE. 


torn away by pincers ; Genevieve, followed by lier lambs ; 
Julienne flagellated ; Anastasie burned; Mary, the Egyp- 
tian, doing penance in the desert; Madeleine, bearing the 
vase of perfumes. Others, others still filed away, each 
with increasing terror and piety; it was like one of those 
terrible and fascinating stories which oppress the heart 
and moisten the eyes with tears. 

But Angelique, little by little, grew curious to know 
just what the engravings represented. The two close 
columns of text, the impression of which had remained 
very black upon the yellowed paper, frightened her by 
the barbarous aspect of the Gothic characters. Hov/- 
ever, she became accustomed to them, deciphered the 
characters, understood the abbreviations and contractions, 
made out the turns and the old words and at last read 
straight along, as enchanted as if she had penetrated a 
mystery, triumphing at each new difficulty overcome. 
Beneath this toilsomely penetrated darkness a whole 
radiant world revealed itself. She entered into a celes- 
tial splendor. Her few classical books, so dry and so 
cold, no longer existed. The legend alone excited her, 
kept her bent down, her forehead between her hands, so 
absorbed that she ceased to live a real life, without con- 
sciousness of time, watching ascend, from the depths of 
the unknown, the grand outburst of the dream. 

God is good, and first, there are the saints, male and 

» 

female. They are born predestined, voices announce 
them and their mothers have striking dreams. All are 
beautiful, strong and victorious. Great lights environ 
them and their visages glow. Dominique has a star on 
his forehead. They read the minds of men and repeat 


LE REVE. 


47 


aloud wliat they tliink. They have tlie gift of prophecy 
and their predictions are always realized. Their number 
is infinite, there are among them bishops and monks, 
young girls and magadalens, beggars and lords of royal 
race, naked hermits eating roots, and old men with hinds 
in caverns. The history of all of them is the same : they 
grow for the Christ, believe in him, refuse to sacrifice to 
false gods, are tortured and die full of glory. The perse- 
cutions fatigue the emperors. Andre, nailed to the cross, 
preaches for two days to 20,000 persons. Conversions 
by wholesale ensue, 40,000 men are baptized simulta- 
neously. When the crowds are not converted by the 
miracles, they flee in terror. The saints are accused of 
magic ; enigmas are put to them which they solve ; they 
are brought into contest with the doctors, who stand mute. 
As soon as they are taken into the temples to sacrifice, 
the idols are overturned by a breath and broken. A 
virgin ties her girdle about the neck of Venus, who falls 
to dust. The earth trembles, the temple of Diana falls, 
struck by lightning; and the people rebel, civil wars 
break out. Then, often, the executioners demand bap- 
tism, the kings kneel before ragged saints, who have 
espoused poverty. Sabine flees from the paternal man- 
sion. Paule abandons her five children and deprives her- 
self of baths. Mortifications and fasts purify them, 
neither wheat nor oil. Germain spreads ashes upon his 
food. Bernard no longer distinguishes the dishes, rec- 
ognizes only the taste of pure water. Agathon keeps a 
stone in his mouth for three years. Augustin despairs 
for having sinned and amuses himself by watching a dog 
run. Prosperity and health are held in contempt, joy 


48 


LE rSvE. 


commences with privations which kill the body. And 
it is thus that, triumphant, they live in gardens where 
the flowers are stars, where the leaves of the trees sing. 
They exterminate dragons, they raise tempests and calm 
them, they are snatched up in ecstasy two cubits from 
the soil. Widows provide for their needs during their 
lives and receive in dreams instructions to go bury them 
when they are dead. Extraordinary things happen to 
them, marvellous adventures as fascinating as romances. 
And, after hundreds of years, when their tombs are 
opened, sweet odors escape from them. 

Then, opposite the saints, behold the devils, the innu- 
merable devils. “ They often saile arounde us like flyes 
and fille the aire without number. The aire is also fulle 
of deviles and evil spirites, as the raye of sunlighte is 
fulle of atomes.” And the battle is waged eternally. 
The saints are always victorious and the}^ are always 
forced to recommence the victory. The more devils are 
driven ofl‘ the more return. Six thousand, six hundred 
and sixty-six were counted in the body of a single 
woman, whom Fortunat delivered. They squirm, they 
talk and shout with the voices of those possessed, Avhose 
sides they shake with a tempest. They enter into them 
by the nose, by the ears, by the mouth, and they come 
out with roars, after days of frightful struggles. At 
every turn of the highways a possessed person grovels 
and a passing saint gives ba-ttle. Basile, to save a young 
man, fights body to body. Macaire, sleeping among 
the tombs, is assailed and defends himself. The very 
angels, at death -beds, are reduced, in order to get the 
souls, to covering the demons with blows. At other 


LE REVE. 


4.9 


times the assaults are only on intelligence and mind. 
They joke, they play incessantly; the Apostle Peter, 
and Simon, the Magician, contended in miracles. Satan, 
Avlio roams about, assumes every shape, disguises him- 
self as a woman and even goes so far as to put on a re- 
semblance to the saints. But, as soon as he is van- 
quished, he appears in his hideousness : “ A blacke cat 
bigger than a dogge, the eyes enormous and fulle of fyre, 
the longe tongue reaching to the middle, broade and 
bloodye, the tayle twysted and lyfted hygh, exposing its 
rampe, on the whych sytte horrible vermyn.” He is 
the sole preoccupation, the great hatred. They are 
afraid of him and jeer him. They are not even honest 
with him. After all, despite the ferocious apparatus of 
his boiling kettles, he remains the eternal dupe. All 
the covenants he makes are torn from him by violence 
or trickery. Weak women overthrow him. Marguerite 
crushes his head with her foot and Julienne bursts open 
his sides with blows from a chain. A serenity comes 
from this, a contempt for evil since it is powerless, a cer- 
tainty of good since virtue is sovereign. It suffices to 
sign one’s self, the devil can do nothing, howls and van- 
ishes. When a virgin makes the sign of the cross all 
hell crumbles. 

Then, in this combat of the saints, male and female, 
against Satan, is unrolled the terrible torments of the 
persecutions. The executioners expose to flies the 
martyrs smeared with honey ; make them walk with bare 
feet over broken glass and glowing coals ; thrust them 
into ditches with reptiles ; flagellate them with whips 
provided with leaden balls ; nail them alive in coffins, 
3 


50 


LE REVE. 


which they cast into the sea ; hang them by the hair, 
then set them on fire ; pour upon their wounds quick- 
lime, boiling pitch and melted lead; seat them on white- 
hot bronze chairs ; push down around their skulls red- 
hot helmets ; burn their sides with torches, break their 
thighs upon anvils, tear out their eyes, cut oft* their 
tongues and crush their fingers one after the other. And 
the suffering does not count, the saints remain full of 
contempt, are in haste and eager to sufler more. But 
a continual miracle protects them, they fatigue the exe- 
cutioners. John drinks poison and is not incommoded 
by it. Sebastien smiles, stuck full of arrows. At other 
times, the arrows remain suspended in the air, to the 
right and the left of the martyr; or, shot by the archer, 
they rebound and put out his eyes. The saints drink 
the melted lead as if it were ice-cold water. Lions cast 
themselves down and lick their hands, as do the lambs. 
The gridiron of Saint Laurent is of an agreeable coolness 
to him. He cries: “ Wretch, you have roasted one part; 
turn the other and then eat, for it is roasted enough.” 
Cecile, plunged into a boiling bath, “ was there as if in a 
colde playce and did not feele a particle of sweate.” 
Christian frustrates he tortures : her father causes her to 
be beaten by twelve men, who succumb from fatigue ; 
another executioner succeeds him, fastens her upon a 
wheel, kindles a fire beneath it, and the flames spread, 
devour 1,500 persons ; he casts her into the sea, with a 
stone about her neck, but the angels bear her up, Jesus 
comes in person to baptize her, then confides her to Saint 
Michael that he may take her back to land ; another 
executioner finally shuts her up with vipers, which twine 


LE e£vE. 


51 


about her throat with a caress; leaves her five days in 
an oven, where she sings, without suffering any harm. 
Vincent, who undergoes still more, does not suffer: they 
break his limbs; they tear his sides with iron combs 
until the entrails come out ; they prick him with needles, 
they cast him upon a brazier which his wounds water 
with blood ; they put him in prison with his feet nailed 
to a post; and, torn, roasted, his stomach open, he still 
lives ; and his tortures are changed into the sweetness 
of flowers, a great light fills the dungeon and angels sing 
with him upon a bed of roses. “ The sweete sound of 
synging and the softe odour of flowers spreade outside, 
and when the guardes had seene they were converted to 
the faithe, and when Dacien hearde this thynge, he was 
furious and sayde : ^ What can we doe to him more, we 
are conquered.’” Such is the cry of the tormentors and 
this can end only in their conversion or their death. 
Their hands are stricken with paralysis. They perish 
violently, fish-bones choke them, thunderbolts crush 
them, their chariots break. And the dungeons of 
the saints are all resplendent. Mary and the apostles 
penetrate there with ease, through the walls. Con- 
tinual succors and apparitions descend from the open 
heavens, where God shows Himself, holding a crown 
of jewels. Hence death is joyous, they defy it and 
parents rejoice when one of their children succumbs. 
Upon Mount Ararat 10,000 expire on the cross. Near 
Cologne the 11,000 virgins came themselves to be mas- 
sacred by the Huns. In the circuses the bones crack 
beneath the teeth of beasts. At three years of age, 
Quirique, whom the Holy Spirit enables to talk like a 


52 


LE KEVE. 


man, suffers martyrdom. Infants at the breast curse the 
executioners. A disdain, a disgust for the flesh, for the 
human rag, sharpens the pain with a celestial pleasure. 
Let them tear it, let them crush it, let them burn it, all 
that is good; again and again, never will it agonize 
enough ; and they all call for the steel, the sword in the 
throat, which alone kills them. Eulalie, upon her funeral 
pile, breathes ,the flames to die more quickly. God 
grants her wish, a white dove emerges from her mouth 
and flies to heaven. 

Angelique was wonder-smitten by these readings. So 
many abominations and that triumphal joy raised her 
in ecstasy above reality. But other and milder portions 
of the Legend amused her also; the beasts, for example, 
all the ark which was in action there. She was interested 
in the crows and eagles charged with feeding the hermits. 
Then, what pretty stories about the lions! — the useful 
lion, which digs the grave of Mary the Egyptian; the fla- 
ming lion, which guards the door of evil houses, when 
the Proconsuls cause the virgins to be conducted there; 
and again the lion of Jerome, to which they entrusted 
an ass, which allows it to rob him and then brings it 
back. There was also the wolf, stricken with contrition, 
returning a stolen hog. Bernard excommunicates the 
flies, which fall dead. Eemi and Blaise feed the birds 
at their table, bless them and restore their health. 
Francis, “full of very great dove-like simplicity,’’ 
preaches to them and exhorts them to love God. “A 
byrde which is called Cicada was in a figge tree, and 
Francis stretched out his hande and called that byrde, 
and instantly it obeyed and came upon his hande. And 


LE REVE. 


53 


he sayde to it: ^Syng, my sister, and prayse onr Lorde.’ 

And it sang straight waye, and dyd not flye off until 
it was dismissed.” For Angelique this was a continual 
subject of recreation, which gave her the idea of calling 
the swallows, carious to see if they would come. Besides, 
there were stories which she could not re-read without 
being sick, so much did she laugh. Christopher, the good 
giant, who carried Jesus, made her laugh until the tears 
came. She suffocated at the misadventure of the gov- 
ernor with the three housemaids of Anastasie, when he 
goes to find them in the kitchen and kisses the frying- 
pans and kettles, thinking he is kissing them. He 
cayme out very blacke and very ugly and his garments 
destroyed. And, when the servants, who awaited hym out- 
side, saw hym thus accoutred, they thought hym turned 
to a devil! . Then thej^ beate hym with roddes and fled 
and left hym all alone.” But where the wildest laugh- 
ter seized upon her was when they beat the devil. Jul- 
ienne especiall}^, who, tempted by him in her dungeon, 
administered to him such an extraordinary thrashing 
with her chain. “ Then the Provost commanded that 
Julienne should bee brought out, and when she issued 
forthe she dragged the devill after her, and hee cried, say- 
ing: ‘My dame Julienne, doe mee no harme.’ She 
dragged hym thus through all the market-playce, and 
afterwards cast hj^m into a very dirty ditche.” Or, 
again, she repeated to the Huberts, as she embroidered, 
legends more interesting than fairj^ tales. She had read 
them so many times that she knew them by heart: the 
legend of the Seven Sleepers, who, fleeing from persecu- 
tion, walled up in a cavern, slept there 377 years, and 


54 


LE REVE, 


whoso awakening so greatly astonished the Emperor 
Theodosius ; the legend of Saint Clement, endless 
adventures, unforeseen and touching, a whole family, 
the father, the mother and the three sons, separated by 
great misfortunes and finally reunited through the most 
beautiful miracles. Her tears flowed, she dreamed of 
it at niuht, she no longer lived save in this tragic and 
triumpliant world of prodigy, in the supernatural land 
of all the virtues, recompensed by all the joys. 

When Angelique went to her first communion, it 
seemed to her that she walked like the saints, at two 
cubits from the ground. She was a young Christian 
of the primitive church, she put herself in the hands of 
God, having learned in the book that she could not be 
saved* without grace. The Huberts worshipped simply : 
the mass on Sunday, the communion at the great 
fetes; and this with the tranquil faith of the hum- 
ble, a little also by tradition and for their clien- 
t^e, the chasubliers having from father to son made 
their Easter devotions. Hubert interrupted himself 
sometimes while spreading an embroidery frame to 
hear the child read her legends, at which he trembled 

7 

with her, his hair stirred by the light breath of the 
invisible. He was affected, he wept, when he saw her 
in her white robe. That dav was like a dream, both 
of them returned from the church, amazed and wear3^ 
Ilubertine found it necessary to scold both of them, she 
so reasonable, who condemned exaggeration even in 
good things. From that time she was compelled to 
combat the zeal of Angelique, especially the fury of 
charity with which she was seized. Francis took pov- 


55 


LE r£vE. 

erty for liis queen, Jalien, the Almoner, called the 
poor his lords, Gervais and Protais washed their leet and 
Martin shared his mantle with them. And the cliild, 
after tlie example of Luce, wished to sell everything 
in order to give everything. She had at first despoiled 
herself of her triiling articles and afterwards she had 
commenced to pillage the house. But the trouble was 
that she gave to unworthy persons, without discernment, 
with open hands. One evening, two days after the first 
communion, on being reprimanded for having thrown 
some linen out of the window to a drunken woman, she 
fell back into her old violence and had a terrible fit. 
Tlien, crushed by shame, she was sick in bed for three' 
days. 

But the weeks and the months sped by. Two years 
had passed ; Angelique was fourteen and was becoming 
a woman. When she read the Legend her ears buzzed, 
the blood beat in the little, blue veins of her temples ; 
and now she felt a sister’s tenderness for the virgins. 

Purity is the sister of the angels, the possession of 
every good, the defeat of the devil and lordship of faith. 
It gives grace, it is perfection, which only has to present 
itself to conquer. The Holy Spirit renders Luce so 
heavy that a thousand men and five pairs of oxen, at tlie 
order of the Proconsul, cannot drag her to an evil place. 
A governor who wishes to kiss Anastasie is stricken 
blind. In the torments the purity of the virgins shines 
forth ; their exceedingl}^ white flesh, ploughed by the 
iron combs, lets streams of milk, instead of blood, gush 
from it. Ten times is repeated the story of the young 
Christian girl, fleeing from her family, hidden beneath 


56 


LE r£vE, 


the robe of a monk, who is accused of having deceived 
a girl of the neighborhood, who bears the calumny with- 
out clearing herself, and then triumphs in the sudden 
revelation of her innocent sex. Eugenie is thus brought 
before a judge, recognizes her father, rends her robe and 
declares herself. The combat of chastity eternally recom- 
mences and the goads are constantly renewed. Hence 
the^ fear of woman is the wisdom of the saints. This 
world is sown with snares ; the hermits seek the desert 
where no women are. They struggle frightfully, flagel- 
late themselves, cast themselves naked among the briars 
and upon the snow. An eremite, to aid his mother in 
crossing a ford, covers his fingers with his mantle. A 
fastened martyr, tempted by a siren, bites off* his tongue, 
which he spits in her face. Francis declares that he has 
no greater enemy than his body. Bernard shouts thief! 
thief! to defend himself against a lady, his hostess. A 
woman to whom Pope Leon gives the host kisses 
his hand; and he cuts off’ his wrist and the Virgin 
Mary restores the hand to its place. All glorify the 
separation of spouses. Alexis, very rich, on being mar- 
ried, instructs his wife in purity and then departs. 
People marry only to die. Justine, tormented with love 
at the sight of Cyprien, resists, converts him and walks 
with him to the torture. Cdcile, beloved by an angel, 
reveals that secret, on the night of her nuptials, to Val- 
erien, her husband, who consents not to kiss her and 
to receive baptism, that he may see the angel. “ He 
founde Cecile in her chamber speaking with the angell, 
and the angell helde in his hande two crownes of roses, 
and gave them the one to Cecile and the other to 


LE REVE. 


57 


Yalerien, and sayde : ‘ Keepe these crownes of sweate 
and of bodye without stayne.’ ” Twenty wed but to 
quit each other; death is stronger than love, it is a 
defiance to existence. Hilaire prays God to call her 
daughter Apia to Heaven that she may not marry ; she 
dies, and the mother demands of the Father to summon 
her also, which is done. The Virgin Mary herself takes 
from women their betrothed lovers. A nobleman, 
related to the king of Hungary, renounces a young girl 
of marvellous beauty as soon as the Virgin Mary enters 
upon the struggle. “Suddenlie Our Ladye appeared to 
him, sayinge: ‘If lam as beautifull as you saye, why 

do you quit me for another ? ’ ” And he betrothed 
himself to her. 

Among all these female saints Angelique had her 
]>references, those whose lessons went to her heart, who 
touched her even to the point of correcting her. Thus 
the wise Catherine, born in the })urple, enchanted her by 
the universal science of her eighteen j^ears, when she 
disputes with the fifty rhetoricians and grarnrnarians, 
whom the Emperor Maximus opposes to her. She con- 
founds them, reduces them to silence. “Theye were 
abashed and knewe not what to saj^e, but alle were 
silente. And the Emperor blamed them that thej^e had 
allowed themselves to be so badly vanquished by a 
inayde.” The fifty then declare to him their conversion. 
“And then, when the tyrante hearde that, he was seized 
upon by a greate furie and commanded that all of them 
should be burnt e in the mydste of the citie.’^ In her eyes 
Catherine was the invincible savant, as noble and bril- 
liant in wisdom as in beauty, she whom she would have 


58 


LE REVE. 


wished to be, in order to convert men and cause herself 
to be fed in prison by a dove, before having her head 
cut ofh But, above all, Elizabeth, the daughter of the 
king of Hungary, afforded her continual instruction. At 
every outbreak of her pride, when violence carried her 
away, she thought of that model of meekness and sim- 
plicity, pious at five years of age, refusing to play, lying 
upon the ground to give homage to God, later the obedi- 
ent and mortified spouse of the Landgrave of Thuringe, 
showing to her husband a gay visage which tears flooded 
every night, finally a continent widow, driven from her 
States, happy to lead the life of a beggar. “Her vest- 
ments were so vile that she wore a graye cloake mended 
with clothe of another color. The sleeves of lier gowne 
were tome and patched with another color.” The king, 
her father, sends a count to search for her. “And when 
the counte sawe her in such clothes and spynning, he 
cryed out with griefe and wonder, and sayde : ‘Never 

did daughter of kynge appear in such garments, nor was 
scene to spyn woole.^ ” She is perfect Christian humil- 
ity which lives on black bread with the mendicants, 
dresses their sores without disgust, wears their rude gar- 
ments, sleeps upon the hard ground and follows the pro- 
cessions barefooted. “ She sometimes washed the pots and 
pans of the kitchen, and disguised and hid herselfe that 
the housemaydes might not turne her from it, and saj^de: 
‘If I collide have founde another life more wretched, I 
would have led it.’ ” So it happened that Angelique, 
stifi* with rage in the past when she was forced to scrub 
up the kitchen, now sought menial tasks when she felt 
herself tormented by a need of domination. Finally, 


LE r£vE. 


59 


more than Catherine, more than Elizabeth, more than 
all, a saint was dear to her — Agnes, the infant martyr. 
Her heart leaped on finding again in the Legend that 
virgin, clad with her locks, who had protected her be- 
neath the doorway of the cathedral. What a flame of 
pure love! How she repulses the governor’s son, who 
accosts her as she is leavir;g school ! “ Get from rnee, 

shepherd of death, commencement of sin and nourish- 
ment of felonie.” How she praises her lover! “I love 
hym whose mother is a Virgin and whose father knew 
no woman, at whose beauty the sunne and the moon 
marvell, by whose odor the dead revive.” And, when 
Aspasien commands them to put “ a sworde through her 
throate,” she ascends to paradise to wed “her white and 
rosie husbande.” For several months past especially, at 
troubled hours, when the heated blood throbbed at her 
temples, Angelique had evoked, implored her; and, 
immediately, it seemed to her that she was cooled. She 
saw her continually about her, she was filled with 
despair at often doing and thinking things which she 
felt angered her. One evening when she was kissing her 
hands, as she still sometimes took pleasure in doing, she 
suddenly grew very red and turned in confusion, 
although she was alone, having realized that the saint 
had seen her. Agnes was the guardian of her bod3^ 

At fifteen Angelique was thus an adorable girl. 
Certainly, neither the cloistered and laborious life, nor 
the mild gloom of the cathedral, nor the Legend of the 
beautiful female saints had made of her an angel, a 
creature of absolute perfection. Fits of fury still broke 
out in her and faults declared themselves, by unforeseen 


CO 


LE REVE. 


freaks, in corners of her soul which they had neglected 
to guard. But she then exhibited so much shame, she 
would so much have preferred to be perfect ! and she 
was so human, so alive, so ignorant and pure after all! 
On returning from one of the long walks which the 
Huberts allowed themselves to take twice a year, the 
ilonday of the Pentecost and the day of the Assumption, 
she had torn up an eglantine and then had amused herself 
by replanting it in the narrow garden. She trimmed 
and watered it ; it grew up straighter there and bore 
larger flowers of a fine odor ; she watched it with 
her habitual passion, hesitating to graft it, however, 
wishing to see if a miracle would not make it bear roses. 
She danced about it and repeated with a ravished air : 
“ It is 1 1 it is I ! ” And if they joked with her concern • 
ing her rose-bush of the highway, she laughed herself, 
a little pale, with tears on the edges of her eyelids. Her 
violet-hued eyes were yet soft, her mouth partly opened 
and disclosed the white little teeth in the elonszated oval 
of her visage, which her flaxen locks, witli the delicacy 
of light, crowned wi‘th a golden glory. Slie had grown 
tail, her neck and shoulders still haughtily graceful, her 
throat round and her waist supple ; and gay and healthy, 
she possessed a rare beauty of an infinite charm in which 
bloomed the innocent flesh and the chaste soul. 

The affection of the Huberts for her grew greater 
daily. The idea of adopting her had occurred to both 
of them. But they said nothing about it for fear of 
awakening their eternal regret. Hence, tiie morning 
when, in their chamber, the husband announced his 
decision, the wife, who had sunk upon a chair, burst into 


LE REVE. 


61 


sobs. Did not adopting that child amount to renouncing 
ever Laving one of their own? Certainly, they could 
not count much on having one at their age ; and she 
gave her consent, softened by the good thought of mak- 
ing her her daughter. Angclique, when they spoke to 
her about it, sprang upon their necks and choked with 
tears. It was an understood thing; she would always 
remain with them, in that house entii ely fall of her now, 
rejuvenated by her youth and gay with her laughter. 
But, at the very first step, an obstacle filled them with 
consternation. On being consulted, the Judge of the 
Peace, M. Grandsire, explained to them the radical im- 
possibility of the adoption, the law exacting that the 
adopted should be of age. Then, as he saw their grief, 
he suggested to them the expedient of voluntary guard- 
ianship : any individual past the age of fifty can attach 
a minor of less than fifteen to him by a legal title by 
becoming his or her voluntary guardian. The ages 
came within the provision, they accepted, enchanted ; and 
it was even agreed upon that they would afterwards con- 
fer adoption on their ward by will, as permitted by the 
Code. M. Grandsire charged himself with the demand 
of the husband and the authorization of the wife, and 
then put himself in communication with the Director of 
the Assistance Publique, the guardian of all the assisted 
children, whose consent it was necessary to obtain. An 
inquiry took place and at length the papers were depos- 
ited in Paris, with the designated Judge of the Peace. 
And they were only waiting for the proems- verbal, which 
constitutes the act of voluntary guardianship, when the 
Huberts were seized upon by a tardy scruple. 


62 


LE REVE. 


Before tlms adopting Angelique, ought they not to 
make an effort to find her family ? If the mother 
existed, where did they get the right of disposing of the 
daughter, without being absolutely certain of her aban- 
donment ? Then, at bottom, there was that unknown, 
that spoiled race, from which, perhaps, came the child 
who had disturbed them in the past and the uneasiness 
concerning whom returned to them at that hour. They 
tormented themselves so much about the matter that 
they could not sleep. 

Suddenly Hubert made the journey to Paris. It was 
a catastrophe in his calm existence. He lied to Angd- 
lique : the guardianship, he said, necessitated his pres- 
ence. He hoped to learn everything in twenty-four 
hours. But, in Paris, the days sped by, obstacles pre- 
sented themselves at every step, and he spent a week 
there, referred by one person to another, scouring the 
streets, bewildered and almost weeping. At first he 
was very coldly received at the Assistance Publique. 
The rule of its Administration is that the children 
shall not be informed as to their origin until they 
reach tlieir majority. Two mornings in succession they 
sent him away. He was obliged to j>ersist, to give 
explanations in three bureaux and to grow hoarse in 
presenting himself as voluntary guardian before an 
under-chief, a tall, lean man saw fit to inform him of the 
absolute absence of precise documents. The Adminis- 
tration knew nothing; a midwife had deposited the 
infant Angdlique-Marie without giving the mother’s 
name. Discouraged, he was about to return to Beau- 
mont, when an idea brought him back for the fourth 


LE EEVE. 


63 


time to ask to examine the certificate of birth, which 
outrlit to bear the’ name of the midwife.. This was 

O 

another troublesome aftair. At last, he obtained the 

/ 

name, Madame Foucart, and even learned tliat the 
woman lived in the Eue des Deux-ficus in 1850. 

Then the journeys recommenced. Part of the Eue 
des Deux-ficus was demolished, and no shop-keeper 
of the neighboring streets remembered Madame Fou- 
cart. He consulted a directory: the name was not in it. 
With his eyes raised, looking out for the signs, he 
resigned himself to climbing to the apartments of the 
mid wives ; and this means proved successful, he had the 
luck to fall upon an old lad)^, who exclaimed: “What! 

do I know Madame Foucart! — a person of such 
great merit, who has suffered misfortune 1 ’’ She dwelt 
in the Eue Censier, at the other extremity of Paris. 
He hastened there. 

There, instructed by experience, he promised himself 
that he would act diplomatically. But Madame Fou- 
cart, an enormous woman, piled up on short legs, did not 
let him bring forward in good order the questions he had 
prepared in advance. As soon as he uttered the Chris- 
tian names of the child and the date of deposit, she 
started off of her own accord and told the whole story in 
a flood of bitterness. Ah! the little one was living! 
Well, she could flatter herself with having a famous 
hussy for a mother! Yes, Madame Sidonie, as they 
called her since her widowhood, a woman of very good 
family, having a brother a minister, according to report, 
which had not prevented her from engaging in the most 
villainous transactions! And she explained how she 


64 


LE REVE. 


had become acquainted with her, when the beggar car- 
ried on, in the Rue Saint-Honore, a trade in fruits and oil 
from Provence, on her arrival from Plassans, whence she 
and her husband had come to tempt fortune. Her hus- 
band dead and buried, she had had a daughter for whom 
immediately on her birth she had evinced a total lack of 
affection, for she was as dull as an invoice of goods, as 
cold as a protest and as indifferent and brutal as a 
bailiff’s assistant. One can pardon a fault, but not 
ingratitude! When the store was used up, had not she, 
Madame Poucart, nourished her during her confinement, 
had she not devoted herself to her even to disembarras- 
sing her by taking the child to the asylum? And, for 
recompense, when she, in her turn, had fallen into 
trouble, she 1 ad not succeeded in getting from her the 

month’s boaj*d, or even fifteen francs which she had 

/ 

lent her from day to day. At present Madame Sidonie 
occupied a small sliop and three rooms on the ground- 
floor in the Rue Faubourg-Poissonniere, where, under 
the pretext of selling lace, she sold everj^thing. Ah! 
yes, ah I j^es, it was better not to know a mother of 
that kind 1 

All hour later, Hubert was prowling about Madame 
Sidonie’s shop. There he caught a glimpse of a thin, 
wan woman without age and without s^x, clad in a 
worn-out black dress, stained with all sorts of shady 
transactions. ISTever could the remembrance of her 
daughter, born by chance, have warmed her trader’s 
heart. Discreetly, he posted himself and learned things 
which he did not repeat to any one, not even to his wife. 
Nevertheless, he hesitated again, he returned to pass 


LE R^VE. 


65 


once more in front of the mysterious little shop. Ought 
he not to push open the door, make himself known and 
obtain a consent? It was for him as an honest man to 
judge if he had the right to cut the bond forever. Sud- 
denly, he turned his back and was in Beaumont that 
evening. 

II libertine had just learned at M. Grandsire’s that the 
proc^s-verbal for the voluntary guardianship was signed. 
And, when Angelique cast herself into Hubert’s arms, 
he clearly saw from the supplicating questioning of her 
eyes that she had comprehended the real motive of bis 
journey. Then, he simply said to her : 

“ My child, your mother is dead ! ” 

Angelique, weeping, embraced them passionately. 
The matter was never mentioned again. She was their 
daughter. 

4 


66 


LE BEVK. 


CHAPTER III. 
angelique’s wish. 



!HAT year, on tlie Monday of tlie Pentecost, the 
Huberts had taken Angelique to breaklast among 
the ruins of the Chateau d’Hautecoeur, which dominate 
the Ligneul, two leagues below Beaumont ; and, on the 
morrow, after all that day of open air, walking and 
laughing, when the old clock of the workroom struck 
eight, the young girl was still asleep. 

Hubertine was forced to go up-stairs and knock at her 
door. . . . . • 

“ Come, lazy one ! Wc liave already breakfasted.” 

Quickly Angelique dressed herself and came down to 
breakfast alone. Then, when she entered the work- 
room, Avhere Hubert and his wife had just commenced 
their toil, she said : 

‘^Ah! how I slept! And that chasuble which is 
promised for Sunday ! ” 

The workroom, the windows of which opened on the 
garden, was a vast apartment preserved almost intact in 
its primitive condition. On the ceiling, the two prin- 
cipal beams and the three spaces between the visible 
joists had not even received a coat of whitewash, but 
were very much smoked and Avonii-eaten, affording 
glimpses of the intervening laths througli the cracks of 
the plaster. One of the stone corbels which supported 
the beams bore a date, 1463, without doubt the date of 


LE REVE. 


67 


construction. The fireplace, also of stone, crumbled and 
disjoined, kept its simple elegance, with its slender up- 
right posts, its corbels, its corniced frieze and its cap ter- 
minated by a coping ; upon the frieze one could even yet 
distinguish, as if melted by age, a bit of rude sculpture, 
a Saint-Clair, the patron of embroiderers. But the fire- 
place was no longer used, they had made an open cup- 
board of it by placing shelves there, where designs were 
piled ; and now the apartment was warmed by a stove, a 
big bell of cast iron, the pipe of which, after having run 
along the ceiling, was let into the cap of the fireplace. 
The doors, now shaky, dated from the time of Louis 
XIV. Bits of the ancient floor were reaching the last 
stage of decay among the more recent strips, placed one 
by one over each hcle. The yellow paint had been 
on the walls nearly a hundred years, faded above, 
rubbed below and stained with saltpetre. 'Every year 
they spoke of repainting, without being able to decide 
upon it through dislike for change. 

II Libertine, seated before the frame on which the 
chasuble was stretched, raised her head, saying : 

“ You know that, if we deliver it on Sunday, I have 
promised you a basket of pansies for your garden.” 

Ga}dy, Angelique exclaimed; 

“ That’s true. Oh ! I’m going to work ! But where’s 
my shield? The implements get lost when one stops 
working.” 

She slipped the old ivory shield on the second joint 
of her little finger, and seated herself on the other side of 
the frame opposite the window. 

Since the middle of the last century, not a modification 


68 


LE REVE. 


had been made in the arrangement of the workroom. 
The fashions had changed, the art of the embroiderer 
had been transformed, but one found there yet, fastened 
to the wall, the chanlatte, the piece of wood on which 
the frame rests, while a movable trestle supports it at 
the other end. lii the corners lay antique implements: 
a diligent, with its cog-wheels and rods on which to put 
the gold of the bobbins without touching it; a spinning- 
wheel worked by hand, a sort of pulley, twisting the 
threads hooked to the wall ; tambours of all sizes, fur- 
nished with their taffeta and osier splints, serving to em- 
broider with hooks. Upon a shelf was ranged an old 
collection of nipping-tools for the spangles ; and one saw 
there also a relic, a copper tatignon, the large classic 
candlestick of the ancient embroiderers. In the rings of 
a rack, made by nailing up a strap, were hung punches, 
mallets, hammers, knives for cutting the vellum, menne- 
lourds, and ratchels of boxwood which serve to shape 
the threads as they are used. And there was, besides, 
at the foot of the linden table, on which they cut out, a 
huge reel, the two movable osier wheels of which 
stretch the skein. Eows of bobbins of bright silk, 
strung on a cord hung near the trunk. On the floor, a 
basket was full of empty bobbins. A pair of huge scis- 
sors lay on the straw seat of one of the chairs, while a 
ball of twine had just fallen upon the floor and unrolled. 

“Ah! the fine weather, the fine weather!” resumed 
Angelique. “ That’s what makes it a pleasure to live ! ” 

And, before bending over and becoming absorbed in 
her work, she forgot herself for another instant in front 
of the open window, through which entered the radiant 


LE REVTE. 


GO 


Ma y morning. A bit of sunlight glided from the root* 
of the cathedral and a fresh odor of lilacs mounted from 
the garden of the bishop’s house. She smiled, dazzled, 
bathed with spring. Then, she said, with a start, as if 
she had fallen asleep again : 

“Father, I have no gold to use.” 

Hubert, who was about finishing pricking on paper 
the outlines of the design of a cope, went to get a skein 
from the depths of the trunk, cut it and frayed the two 
ends by scratching the gold which covered the silk ; and 
he brought tlie skein enclosed in a bit of parchment 

“ Is tliat all ? ” 

“Yes, yes.” 

With a glance she had assured herself that nothing 
else was lacking : the rods loaded with different hued 
gold, red, green, blue ; the bobbins of silk of every 
shade ; the spangles, the twists, flat or curled, in the case, 
the crown of a hat serving as a box; the long, fine 
needles, the steel pincers, the thimbles, the scissors and 
the cake of wax. All these things were on the frame 
itself, upon the stretched material, which was protected 
by strong gray paper. 

She had threaded a needle with gold to sew. But at 
the first stitch it broke, and she was forced to fray it 
again by scratching off a little of the gold, which she 
threw into the bouriquet, the waste box, which was also 
u}3on the frame. 

“At last ! ” said she, when her needle was started. 

Profound silence reigned. Hubert had set about 
stretching a frame. He had placed the two cylinders 
upon the chanlatte and upon the trestle, exactly facing 


70 


LE rSvE. 


each other, so as to have straight the crimson silk of the 
cope, which Hubertine had just sewed to the cylinders. 
And he introduced the laths into the mortises of the 
cylinders, where he fixed them with the aid of four 
small nails. Then, after having pulled to the right and 
the left, he finished the stretching by removing the nails. 
They heard him tap with the ends of his fingers upon 
the stutf which resounded like a drum. 

Angelique had become a rare embroiderer, of an 
address and taste which astonished the Huberts. Besides 
what they had taught her, she brought her passion, which 
gave life to the flowers and faith to the sj^mbols. 
Beneath her hands the silk and the gold grew animated, 
a mystic flight shot from the slightest ornaments ; she 
gave herself wholly to her work, with her imagination 
constantly on the alert, her belief in the infinite world of 
the invisible. Certain of her embroideries had so stirred 
the diocese of Beaumont that a priest, who was an anti- 
quarian, and another, an amateur of pictures, had come 
to see her and had gone into ecstasies over her Virgins, 
whom they compared to the genuine figures of the 
Primitives. They had the same sinceritj^, the same feel- 
ing of the beyond, as if environed by a minute perfection 
of details. She had the gift of design, a real miracle 
which, without a professor, with nothing but her studies 
by the evening lamp, permitted her often to correct her 
models, to diverge from them, acting according to her 
fancy, creating with the point of her needle. Hence the 
Huberts, who declared the science of design necessary to 
a good embroiderer, were thrown into the background by 
her, despite their long experience. And they had 


LE REVE. 


71 


modestly come to be no more than her assistants, to 
entrusting her with all the works of great importance, 
the groundwork of which they prepared for her. 

From one end of the year to the other how many 
marvels, brilliant and holy, passed through her hands! 
She worked only in silk, satin, velvet and cloth of gold 
and silver. She embroidered chasubles, stoles, mani' 
pules, copes, dalmatics, mitres, banners and chalice and 
pyx veils. But, above ail, chasubles came to her con-- 
tinually, with their five colors: white for the confessors 
and the virgins, red for the apostles and the martyrs, 
black for the dead and the days of fasting, violet for the 
innocents, green for all the fetes ^ and gold also, of a fre- 
quent usage, which might re|)Iace the white, the red and 
the green. In the centre of the cross were always the 
same symbols, the initials of Jesus and Marj^, the trian- 
gle surrounded with rays, the lamb, the pelican, the 
dove, a cliaiice, an ostensoir, a heart bleeding beneath 
thorns ; while on the upright and arms were ornaments 
or flowers, all the ornamentation of the old styles, 'all the 
flora of large flowers, anemones, tulips, peonies, pome-* 
granates and hortensias. There passed no season tliat 
she did not reproduce the vSj^mbolical ears of wheat and' 
grapes in silver upon the black or in gold upon the red. 
For the very rich chasubles she varied the pictures, 
heads of saints, a central frame, the Annunciation, the 
[Manger, Calvary. Sometimes the broad bands of gold 
were embroidered upon the ver)^ ends, sometimes sh.e 
drew back the silk or satin bands over gold brocade or 
velvet. And this bloom of celestial splendors sprang 
up, piece by piece, from her slender fingers. 


72 


LE REVE. 


At tliat moment, tlie chasuble upon which Angdlique 
was working was a chasuble of white satin, the cross of 
which was composed of a sheaf of golden lilies, inter- 
laced with bright roses, in shaded silk. In the centre, 
in a crown of small roses of dull gold, the initial of 
Mary shone in red and green gold, with a great wealth 
of ornaments. 

For an hour past, while she had been finishing the 
leaves of the little golden roses, not a word had dis-‘ 
turbed the silence. But the gold broke again and she 
re threaded her needle under the frame, without looking, 
like an adroit workwoman. Then, as she had raised her 
head, she appeared to drink in one long breath the spring- 
time which was entering. 

“Ah!’’ she murmured, “what fine weather it was 
yesterday I How nice the sun is I ” 

Hubertine, who was waxing her thread, gave her 
head a toss. 

“ For my part, I’m bruised to a jelly. I have no feeling 
in my ‘arms. That’s because I’m not sixteen like you 
and because we go out so little 1 ” 

Immediately, however, she resumed work. She was 
preparing the lilies by sewing bits of vellum on the 
places marked, to give relief. 

“ And, besides, those early suns give you the head- 
ache,” added Hubert, who, his frame stretched, was get- 
ting ready to rub pumice stone over the silk to arrange 
the design of the band of the cope. 

Angelique was sitting with dreamy eyes, lost in the 
ray which fell from a buttress of the church. And she 
said, gently; 


LE REVE. 


73 


“No, no, all that day spent in the open air refreshed 
and invigorated me.” 

She had finished the little golden foliage and set to 
work at one of the large roses, keeping ready as many 
threaded needles as the shades of silk, embroidering with 
cleft and deep stitches in the very direction of the move- 
ment of the petals. And, despite the delicacy of thistask, 
the remembrances of the preceding day, which she had 
just reviewed in the silence, now overflowed from her 
lips, escaped in such numbers that she no longer ceased 
talking. She spoke of the departure, the vast country, 
the breakfast amid the ruins of Hautecoeur, upon the 
floor of a little hall, the fallen walls of which dominated 
the Ligneul, flowing below among the willows, fifty 
metres away. She was full of it, of those ruins, of those 
bones scattered beneath the briars, which attested the 
enormousness of the colossus which, when standing, 
commanded the two valleys. The donjon remained, 
sixty metres high, uncovered and cleft, but solid in spite 
of all upon its foundations fifteen feet in thickness. Two 
towers had also resisted the destroying hand of time : 
the tower of Charlemagne and the tower of David, con- 
nected by a fortification curtain almost intact. In 
the interior, one found a portion of the buildings, 
the chapel, the hall of justice and some chambers; 
and all this seemed to have been built for giants, 
the steps of the stairways, the embrasures of the 
windows and the benches of the terraces, on an 
extravagant scale for the generations of to-day. It 
was a whole strong town, five hundred men of war could 
sustain a siege of thirty months tliere^ without lacking 


7i LE REVE. 

either munitions or provisions. For two centuries the 
eglantines had despoiled the bricks of the lower rooms, 
lilacs and cjtises had bloomed among the rubbish of the 
fallen ceilings and a plane tree had grown up in the fire- 
place of the grand hall. But when, at sunset, the carcass 
of the donjon stretched its shadow over three leagues of 
cultivated fields and the entire chateau seemed to recon- 
struct itself, colossal in the evening mist, one again felt 
its ancient sovereignty, the rude strength which had 
made it the impregnable fortress at which even the kings 
of France had trembled. 

And I am sure,'’ continued Angelique, “ that it is in- 
habited by souls which return at night. All sorts of 
voices are heard, there are animals everj^wliere which 
look at you, and I distinctly saw, on turning round, 
when we had quitted it, tall white figures floating above 
the walls. Is it not so, mother, you who know the 
chateau’s history? ” 

II libertine smiled placidly. 

Oh ! ghosts ! I never saw any for my part.” 

But, in truth, she knew the history, which slie had 
read in a book, and she was compelled to relate it anew,‘ 
at the pressing questions of the young girl. 

The land had belonged to the seat of Rheims since 
the time of Saint Remi, who had received it from Clo-' 
vis. An archbishop, Severin, in the first year of the 
Tenth Century, caused a fortress to be built at Haute- 
coeur to defend the district against the Normans, who 
came up the Oise, into which the Ligneul flows. In 
the following century, a successor of Severin gave it as 
a fief to Norbert, a younger son of the House of Nor- 


LE Ri&VE. 


75 


mandy, in consideration of an annual rental of sixty 
sous and on condition that the town of Beanmont and 
its church should remain free. It was thus that Norbert 
became the chief of the Marquises of Ilautecoeur, 
whose famous line from thence fills history, llerve 
IV., twice excommunicated for his thefts of ecclesiastical 
property, a bandit of the public highways, who slaugh- 
tered with his own hands thirty bourgeois at one time, 
had his tower razed by Louis le Gros, against whom he 
liad dared to make war. Eaoul I., who went as a crusa- 
der with PhilippC'Auguste, perished before Saint-Jean- 
d’Acre from a lance-thrust in the heart. But the most 
illustrious was Jean V., the Great, who, in 1225, rebuilt 
the fortress, raised in less than five years this redoubta- 
ble Chateau d’Hautecoeur, in the shelter of which he 
dreamed for a moment of the throne of France ; and, 
after having escaped from the massacres of twenty bat- 
tles, he died in his bed, the brother-in-law of the king 
of Scotland. Then came Felicien III., who went bare- 
footed to Jerusalem, Ilerve VII., who claimed his right 
to the throne of Scotland, and otliers still, powerful and 
noble for centuries, up to Jean IX., who, under Mazarin, 
had the pain of witnessing the dismantling of the cha- 
teau. After a final siege, they blew up Avith mines the 
vaults of the towers and the donjon, they burned the 
buildings, where Charles VI. had come to amuse his 
folly and which, nearly tAVo hundred A^ears later, Henri 
IV. had inhabited eight daj^s with Gabrielle d’Estrees. 
All these roj^al souvenirs noAV slept in the grass. 

Angclique, Avithout stopping her needle, listened pas- 
sionately, as if the vision of these dead grandeurs had 


76 


LE REVE. 


arisen from her frame, in proportion as the rose was 
born there in the soft life of colors. Her ignorance 
of history enlarged the facts, drew them from the depths 
of a prodigious legend. She trembled at them with 
ravished faith, the chateau reconstructed itself, mounted 
even to the gates of Heaven, the Hautecceurs were tlie 
cousins of the Virgin. 

^‘And,” demanded she, “our new bishop. Monseigneur 
d’Hautecceur, is then a descendant of that family ? ” 

Hubertine answered that Monseigneur must belong to 
a younger branch, the elder branch having been for a 
long time extinct. It was even a singular change, for 
during centuries the Marquises of Hautecoeur and the 
clergy of Beaumont had been at war with each other. 
About 1150 an abbe undertook the construction of the 
church with only the resources of his order; hence 
money was soon lacking, the edifice was but up to the 
height of the vaults of the lateral chapels, and they 
were forced to content themselves with covering the 
nave with a wooden roof.* Eighty years elapsed, Jean V. 
had just rebuilt the chateau when he gave three hun- 
dred thousand livres, which, added to other sums, per- 
mitted the continuation of the church. They finished 
raising the nave. The two towers and the grand facade - 
were not terminated till much later, about 1430, in tlie 
middle of the Fifteenth Century. To reward Jean V. 
for his bounty tlie clergy had accorded him the right of 
burial, for himself and his descendants, in a chapel of 
the arch, consecrated to Saint Georgfc, and which from 
that time was named the Hautecoeur Chapel. But the 
good relations could not last long, the chateau put the 


LE REVE. 


77 


francliises of Beaumont in continual peril, incessantly 
hostilities broke oat upon questions of tribute and pre- 
cedence. One, especially, the right of toll which the 
seigneurs claimed to have over the navigation of the 
Ligneul, perpetuated the quarrels when the great pros- 
perity of the lower town, with its manufactories of fine 
stuffs, declared itself. From that period the fortune of 
Beaumont increased, while that of Ilautecoeur dimin- 
ished until the moment when the church triumphed in 
the dismantling of the chateau. Louis XIV. made the 
church a cathedral, a bishop’s house was built in the 
ancient enclosure of the monks ; and chance had now 
decreed that a Ilautecoeur should return as bishop to 
command that clergy, still existing, which had van- 
quished his ancestors after a struggle of four hundred 
years. 

“But,” said Angelique, “Monseigneur has been mar- 
ried. He has a big son of twenty years, has he not? ” 

Hubertine had taken up her scissors to trim one of 
the bits of vellum. 

“Yes, the Abbe Cornille told me about that. Oh ! it’s 
a very sad story. Monseigneur was a captain at twenty- 
one under Charles X. At twenty-four, in 1830, he re- 
signed, and it is asserted that until he reached the forties 
he led a dissipated life — ^journeys, adventures and duels. 
Then, one evening, at the house of some friends in the 
country, he met Paule, the daughter of the Count de 
ValeiKjay, who was very rich, miraculously handsome 
and scarcely nineteen, twenty-two years younger than 
himself He fell madly in love with her and she adored 
him ; they were compelled to hasten the marriage. It 


73 


LE KEVE. 


was at that time that he repurchased the ruins of Ilaute- 
coeur for a trifle, ten thousand francs, I believe, with the 
intention of repairing the chateau, where he dreamed of 
installino: himself with his wife. For nine months thev 
lived hidden in the depths of an old property in Anjou, 
refusing to see any one and finding the hours too short. 
Paule had a son and died.” 

Flubert, who was rubbing the design with a poncette 
filled with white, had raised his head, very pale. 

“ Ah ! the unfortunate man ! ” murmured he. 

“ It is related that he nearly died of it,” continued 
II Libertine. “ Fifteen days later he took orders. That 
was twenty years ago and he is a bishop to-day. But it 
is added that for twenty years he has refused to see his 
son, that child which cost its mother her life. He placed 
him at the house of his uncle, an old abbe, not wishing 
even to receive tidings of him, striving to forget his 
existence. One day when a portrait of the child had 
been sent him, he thought he again beheld his dear dead 
wife, and they found him upon the floor, as stiff as if he 
had been felled by a blow from a hammer. But age and 
prayer must have quieted this great grief, for the good 
Cure Cornille told me yesterday that Monseigneur had at 
last summoned his son to him.” 

Angelique, having finished .her rose, which was so 
fresh that the odor of it seemed to exhale from the satin, 
again gazed out of the sunny window, her eyes obscured 
by a reverie. She repeated in a low voice : 

“ Monseigneur’s son.” 

Ilubertine terminated her story. 

‘^A young man as handsome as a god, it appears. 


LE kSvE. 


79 


The father desired to make a priest of him, but the old 
abbe objected, the youth having no inclination whatever 
that way. And he has millions [ — fifty, according to 
report! Yes, his mother left him five millions, which, 
invested in the purchase of property in Paris, should 
represent more than fifty now. In fine, he is as rich as a 
king!” 

“ Rich as a king, handsome as a god I ” Angelique re- 
peated, unconsciously, in her dreamy voice. 

And with a mechanical hand she took from the frame 
a rod loaded with gold thread, to begin embroidering a 
large lily in guipure. After having pulled out the thread 
from the slit in the rod, she fastened the end with a 
stitch of silk on the very edge of the vellum, which 
made the thickness. Then, working, she spoke again, 
without finishing her thought, lost in the vagueness of 
her desire: 

“ Oh ! what I would wish, what I would wish ” 

Deep silence again ensued, troubled only by a faint 
chant which came from the church. Hubert was putting 
order into his design by touching up with a brush all the 
lines pricked by the pongure ; and the ornaments of the 
cope appeared thus in white upon the red silk. It was 
he who now spoke : 

‘‘ Those ancient times were so magnificent! The seio-. 
neurs wore vestments all stiff with embroidery. At 
Lyons they sold the stuff* as high as six hundred livres 
the ell. You ought to read the statutes and ordinances 
of the master embroiderers, in which it is set forth that 
the embroiderers of the king have the right to requisi- 
tion by armed force the workwomen of the other masters. 


80 


LE REVE. 


And we bad a coat-of-arms ; azure, the fesse variegated 
with gold, accompanied by three fleurs de lys likewise, 
two at the top and one at the bottom. Ah ! it was fine 
away back in the past ! ’’ 

He ceased and tapped with his nail on the frame to 
shake the dust from it. Then, he resumed : 

“ At Beaumont, they yet relate a legend concerning 
the Hautecoeurs, which my mother repeated to me when 
I was a child : A frightful plague was ravaging the 

town and half the inhabitants had already succumbed, 
when Jean V., he who rebuilt the fortress, perceived 
that God had sent him the power to fight the scourge. 
Then, he went barefooted to the houses of the sick, knelt 
and kissed them ; and, as soon as his lips had touched 
them, saying: ^If God wishes, I wish,’ the sick were 

cured. That is why those words have remained the 
motto of the Hautecoeurs, all of whom, since that time, 
have possessed the power to cure the pest. Ah ! what 
stately men ! — a dynasty ! Monseigneur calls himself 
Jean XII., and the Christian name of his son should 
also be followed by a cipher, like that of a prince.” 

He stopped. Each one of his words had rocked and 
prolonged Angelique’s reverie. She resumed, in the 
same sing-song voice : 

Oh! what I would wish, what I would wish ” 

Holding the rod, without touching the thread, she 
whipped the gold with silk, conducting it to tlie right 
and to the left, upon the vellum, alternately, and fixing 
it at each turn with a stitch of silk. The big golden 
lily gradually bloomed. 

‘‘ Oh ! what I would wish, what I would wish, would 


LE REVE. 


81 


be to wed a prince — a prince wliom I liad never before 
beheld, who should come some evening at dark to take 
me by the hand and lead me into a palace. And what 
I would wish would be that he should be very handsome 
and very rich, oh ! the handsomest and the richest that the 
earth has ever produced. I would wish for horses that 
I should hear neigh beneath my windows, precious 
stones, the flood of which should gush over my knees, 
and a rain of gold, a deluge of gold which should fall 
from my two hands as soon as I opened them. And what 
I would wish further would be that my prince should love 
me to madness in order that on my side I might love 
him like a mad woman. We should be very young, 
very pure and very noble' always, always ! ” 

Uubert, abandoning his frame, had approached, smi- 
ling; while Hubertine, good-naturedly, menaced the 
young girl with her finger. 

“ Ah ! vain creature, ah ! greedy one, so you are incor- 
rigible, are you? You’re off with your desire to be a 
queen. Well, that dream is less wicked than to steal 
the sugar and reply insolently. But, after all, the devil 
is at the bottom of it, passion and pride are speaking.” 
Angelique gazed at her, gayly and frankly. 

“Mother, mother, what are you saying? Is it a sin to 
love what is beautiful and rich ? I love it because it is 
rich, because it is beautiful, because it is agreeable to 
my heart and soul. A beautiful thing gives brightness 
and helps to live, like the sun. You well know that I 
am not mercenary. Money — ah! you would see what I 
would do with money, if I had plenty of it! It would 
be showered over the town, it would flow to the houses 
5 


82 


LE REVE. 


of the wretched — a genuine blessing — no more poverty ! 
In the first place, I would enrich you and father, I Avould 
like to see you in dresses and garments of brocade, like 
a lady and a seigneur of the olden time! ” 

Hubertine gently shrugged her shoulders. 

‘‘ Crazy girl 1 But, my child, you are poor, you will not. 
have a sou when you get married. How can you dream 
of a prince? So, you would wed a rich man? ” 

“ What 1 would I wed one ? ” 

And she assumed an air of profound stupefaction. 

“Ah! yes, I would wed one! Since he would have 
money, what would be the good of my having any? I 
would owe all to him, I would love him so much the 
more.” 

This triumphant argument enchanted Hubert, whose 
brain was excited by Angelique’s flight. He gladly 
sailed with her upon the wing of a cloud, he cried : - 

“She is right.” 

But his wife cast a dissatisfied glance at him. She 
grew stern. 

“ My child, you will see later, when you know life.” 

“ I know life already.” 

“ Where could you have acquired a knowledge of it? 
You are too young, you are ignorant of evil. But evil 
exists and is all-powerful.” 

“ Evil, evil.” 

Angelique uttered the word slowly in order to pene- 
trate its meaning. And in her pure eyes the same inno- 
cent astonishment was expressed. She knew all about 
evil, the Legend had shown it to her slifficiently. Was 
not evil ^ the devil ? — and had she not seen the devil 


LE REVE. 


8 0 
O 

always springing up, but always vaiiquislied ? After 
each battle he was left on the ground, terribly beaten 
and in a pitiful condition. 

“ Evil I ah ! mother, if you only knew how I snap my 
fingers at it! One has but to conquer one’s self and one 
lives happily.’' 

Huber tine made a gesture of vexed uneasiness. 

“You will make me repent of having brought you up 
in this house, alone with us, away from everybody. Yes, 
I am afraid that we shall feel remorse some day for hav- 
ing left you to this extent ignorant of existence. What 
paradise are you dreaming about? How do you picture 
the world to yourself? ’’ 

A hope had brightened the young girl’s face, while, 
bent over, she worked the rod with the same continuous 
movement. 

“ So you believe me very foolish, mother? The world 
is full of good people. When one is honest and toils, 
one is always rewarded. Oh I I know there are also 
some wicked folks. But do they count? People do not 
associate with them and they are speedily punished. And 
besides, you see, from afar the world produces upon mo 
the effect of a vast garden, yes, of an immense park, all 
full of flowers and sunlight 1 It is so good to live and 
life is so sweet that it cannot be bad.” 

She grew animated, as if intoxicated by the brightness 
of the silks and gold she was handling with her supple 
fingers. 

“Happiness is very simple. We are happy, are we 
not? and why? Because we love each other. See ! it’s 
no more difficult than that — it is necessary to love a great 


84 


LE KEVE. 


deal and to be greatly beloved. So, you will see when 
he shall come for whom I am waiting. We shall recog- 
nize each other at once. I have never beheld him, but 
I know what he should be like. He will enter, he will 
say : ‘ I have come to take you.’ And I will answer : ‘ I 
have been expecting you — take me.’ He will take liie, 
and it will be done forever. We shall go into a palace 
to sleep on a bed of gold, incrusted with diamonds. Oh I 
it’s very simple ! ” 

“You are crazy, be silent I ” interrupted Hubertine 
severely. 

And, observing that she was excited, ready to again 
mount to the dream : 

“Be silent, you make me tremble. Unhappy girl, 
when we marry you to some poor devil, you will break 
your bones in falling back to earth. Happiness, for poor 
people like us, is only in humility and obedience.” 

Angelique continued to smile with tranquil obstinacy. • 
“ I await him and he will come.” 

“ But she is right I ” exclaimed Hubert, roused also, 
carried away by his excitement. “ Why do you scold 
her? She is handsome enough for a king to ask us for 
her. Everything happens.” 

Hubertine sadly raised to him her pretty eyes, full of 
wisdom. 

“Don’t encourage her in evil-doing. Better than any- 
one you know wbat it costs to yield to one’s heart.” 

He turned-very pale and big tears appeared on the 
edges of his eyelids. Immediately she had regretted the 
lesson, she had arisen to take his hands. But he 
released himself, he repented in a stammering voice: 


LE REVE. 


85 


“No, no, I was wrong. You hear, Angelique, you 
must listen to your mother. We are a couple of fools — 
she alone is sensible. I was wrong, I was wrong.” 

Too much agitated to sit down, leaving the cope which 
he had stretched, he occupied himself with gluing a ban- 
ner, finished and remaining upon the frame. After hav- 
ing taken the pot of Flander’s glue from the trunk, he 
passed the brush over the wrong side of the material, 
which consolidated the embroidery. His lips still trem- 
bled slightly and he remained silent. 

But, if Angelique obediently maintained silence also, 
she continued mentally, she mounted higher and higher 
into the beyond of desire; and everything in her bespoke 
this, her mouth partly opened by ecstasy, her eyes in 
which was reflected the blue infinity of her vision. She 
was now embroidering that poor girl’s dream with her 
gold thread; it was from it that the great lilies, the 
roses and the initial of Mary were born, thread by thread, 
upon the white satin. The stalk of the lily, in chev- 
roned stitch, shot up like a jet of light, while the long 
and slender leaves, made of spangles each one sewed on 
with a bit of purl, fell back like a rain of stars. In the 
centre Mary’s initial was dazzling, of a relief of massive 
gold, worked with guipure and figuring, burning like a 
tabernacle glory in the mystic conflagration of its rays. 
And the soft satin roses lived, and the entire chasuble 
shone, all white, miraculously blooming with gold. 

Then, after a long silence, Angelique raised her head, 
her cheeks warm with the blood which had mounted 
from her heart. She looked at Hubertine with a mis- 
chievous air, she tossed her chin and said again; 


86 


LE REVE. 


“ I await him and he will come.” 

It was a foolish imagination. But she persisted. She 
was sure that was the way it would be. Nothing shook 
her agreeable conviction. 

“I tell you, mother, that those things will happen.” 
Hubertine adopted the course of shrugging her shoul- 
ders. And she bantered her. 

“But I believe that you did not wish to get married. 
Your female saints, who have turned your head, did not 
marry. Eather than submit to marriage, they converted 
their fiances, they fled from their parents’ homes and 
allowed themselves to be beheaded.” 

The young girl listened in surprise. Then, she burst 
out into a loud laugh. All her health, all her love of 
living sang in this sonorous gayety. The histories of 
the female saints dated from so far back! The times 
had greatly changed, God,triumphant, no longer demanded 
that any one should die for him. In the Legend, it was 
the marvellous which had seized upon her, more than 
the contempt for the world and the taste for death. Ah ! 
yes, certainly, she wished to marry, and to love, and to 
be loved, and to be happy ! 

“Look out!” pursued Hubertine, who was teasing 
her, “you will make Agnes, your guardian, weep. Do 
you not know that she refused the governor’s son, and 
that she preferred to die in order to espouse Jesus? ” 

The great bell of the tower began to ring, a flock of 
sparrows flew away from an enormous ivy which enframed 
one of the windows of the arch. In the workroom, 
Hubert, still mute, had hung the stretched banner, yet 
damp with glue, th-at it might dry, on one of the huge 


LE rSvE. 


87 


iron nails driven the wall. The sunlight, turning, 
changed its place, brightened up the old implements, the 
diligent, the osier wheels, the copper tatiguon ; and, as it 
reached the two workwomen, the frame at which they 
were toiling flamed, with its cylinders and its laths var- 
nished by use, with all that lay upon the stuff* the purl 
and the collection of spangles, the bobbins of silk and the 
rods loaded with gold. 

Then, in that warm radiance of spring, Angdlique 
gazed at the huge symbolical lily which she had finished. 
Afterwards, opening her frank eyes widely, she answered, 
with her air of confident joy : 

“ But it is Jesus I want I ” 




88 


LE REVE. 


CIIAPTEE lY. 

ON THE BALCONY. 

D espite Ler vivacious gayety, Ang^lique loved 
solitude ; _and it was with the joy of a veritable 
recreation that she found herself alone in her chamber, 
morning and evening: she gave the rein to herself there, 
enjoyed the frolic of her reveries. Sometimes even, in 
the course of the da}^, when she could run there for an 
instant, she was as happy as if she had gained her full 
freedom by flight. 

The chamber, which was very large, took up half of 
the roof, the garret occupying the rest. ^ It was white- 
washed throughout, the walls, the joists, even to the vis- 
ible rafters of the mansarded portions; and, in that 
white bareness, the old oaken furniture seemed black. 
At the period of the embellishment of the salon and bed- 
chamber below, they had sent up there the antique fur- 
niture, dating from every epoch : a chest of the Renais- 
sance, a table and some chairs Louis XIII. style, -an 
enormous Louis XIV. bedstead and a very handsome 
Louis XY. cupboard. The stove, in white faience, and 
the toilet table, a small table covered with oilcloth, alone 
jarred amid these venerable relics. Draped with ancient 
pink chintz, with bouquets of sweet broom, so faded that 
the pink was almost gone, tlie enormous bedstead, 
scarcely suspected, especially retained the majesty of its 
great age. 


LE KEVE. 


89 


But wliat pleased Angelique was the balcony, upon 
which the window opened. Of the two windows of the 
])ast, one, that on the left, had been closed up simply 
with the aid of nails ; and the balcon^q which formerly 
ran along the whole front, no longer existed save befoi’e 
the window on the right. As the girders below were 
still sound, they had renewed the flooring and screwed 
an iron railing above in the place of the ancient rotted 
balustrade. It was a charming nook, a sort of niche, 

t 

beneath the point of the gable end, which was closed by 
thin boards replaced at the commencement of this 
century. When one leaned over one saw all the fagade 
upon the garden, Avhich was very crazy, with its base of 
small, dressed stones, its sections of wood garnished with 
visible bricks and its large bay windows now reduced. 
Below, the kitchen door was surmounted by a projecting 
roof covered with zinc. And, above, the rafters of the 
roof, which projected a metre, were consolidated by 
corbels, the foot of which was supported by the band of 
the ground-floor. This put the balcony amid a whole 
vegetation of woodwork, in the depths of a forest of old 
wood, which gilli flowers and moss rendered green. 

Since she had occupied the chamber, Angelique had 
passed many hours there, leaning her elbows on the rail- 
ing and looking. First, beneath her lay the garden, 
which tall box bushes made sombre with their eternal 
verdure ; in a corner, against the church, a clump of 
meagre lilacs surrounded an old granite bench ; while, in 
another corner, half-hidden by an ivy the mantle of which 
covered all the wall at the back, was a small door open- 
ing upon the Clos-Marie, a vast piece of ground left un- 


90 


LE KEVE. 


cultivated. This Clos-Marie was tlie ancient orcliard of 
the monks. A brook of running water passed through 
it, the Clievrotte, in which the housewives of the neigh- 
boring dwellings were authorized to wash their linen ; 
families of poor people sheltered themselves amid the 
ruins of an ancient mill which had fallen down ; and no one 
else inhabited the field, which the lane of the Guerdaches 
alone connected with the Eue Magloire, between the high 
walls of the bishop’s house and those of the Hotel Voin- 
court. In summer, the very aged elms of the two 
parks barred with their leafy tops the narrow horizon, 
which was closed on the south by the gigantic croup of 
the church. Thus wedged in on every side, the Clos- 
Marie slept in the quiet of its abandonment, invaded by 
wild grass, planted with poplars and. willows which the 
wind had sown. Among the big pebbles, the Cbevrotte 
bounded along, singing with continuous crystal music. • 
Never did Angelique tire of gazing at this sequestered 
corner. And yet for seven years she had found there 
again each morning only the spectacle already seen the 
day before. The trees of the Hotel Voincourt, thefa9ade 
of which looked upon the Grand’Rue, were so bushy 
that only in winter could she distinguish the Countess’ 
daughter, Claire, a child of her age. In the garden of 
the bishop’s house there was a still greater thickness of 
branches, she had striven in vain to recognize the violet 
soutane of Monseigneur ; and the old grating, furnished 
with shutters, which opened upon the close, must have 
been condemned for a long while, as she did not re- 
member having seen it open a single time, not even to 
give passage to a gardener. Besides the housewives 


LE r£vE. 


91 


beating their linen, she never beheld any one there except 
the same poor children in rags, lying in the grass. 

The springtime that year was of an exquisite mildness. 
She was sixteen, and until then her glances alone had 
been pleased to see the Clos-Marie grow green again 
beneath the April suns. The growth of the tender 
leaves, the transparence of the warm evenings, all the 
odorous renewal of the soil had simply amused her. 
But, that year, at the first bud, her heart had begun to 
beat. There had been a growing agitation within her 
since the grass had grown and the wind had borne her the 
stronger odors of the verdure. Sudden, causeless fits of 
anguish seized upon her. One evening, she threw herself 
into Hubertine’s arms, weeping, but having no reason for 
grief ; she was happy, on the contrary, experiencing joy 
so deep, so unknown, that her being seemed to melt. At 
night, especially, she had delicious dreams, she saw 
shadows pass, she grew faint with delights which she 
dare not recall on awaking, confused with the enjoyment 
which the angels had given her. Sometimes, in the 
depths of her vast bed, she awoke with a start, her two 
hands clasped, pressed against her bosom ; and she was 
forced to leap out with bare feet upon the floor, to such 
an extent was she stifling ; and she ran to open the win- 
dow, she remained there, quivering, bewildered, in that 
bath of cool air which calmed her. It was a continual 
amazement, a surprise at not recognizing herself, at feel- 
ing as if she were swollen with joys and pains of which 
she was ignorant, all the bewitching blooming of the 
woman. 

Why was it that the invisible lilacs and cytises of 


92 


LE REVE. 


tlie bishop’s house had an odor so sweet that she no 
longer breathed it without a rosy flood mounting to her 
cheeks? Never befoi’e had she noticed that warmth of 
perfumes which now touched her with a living breath. 
And, also, had she not not remarked, the preceding 
years, a tall paulownia in bloom, the enormous violetish 
bouquet of which appeared between two elms of the gar- 
den of the Voincourts? This year, as soon as she 
looked at it, an emotion moistened her eyes, so much 
did that pale violet jdease her. In tlie same wav, she 
did not recall having heard the Chevrotte babble so 
loudly over the pebbles, among the reeds of its banks. 
Surely the brook talked, she heard it utter vague words, 
always repeated, which filled her witli confusion. Was 
this then no longer the field of other daj^s, that every- 
thing there astonished her and took in this way a new 
sense? — or, was it she, rather, who had changed, that 
she felt, saw and heard life spring up there ? 

But the cathedral, to her right, the enormous mass which 
shut off the sky, surprised her more yet. Each morn- 
she imagined that she saw it for the first time and 
was stirred by her discovery, comprehending that those 
old stones loved and thought as she did. This was not 
rational, but she had no science, she abandoned herself 
to the mystic flight of the giant, the birth of which had 
lasted three centuries and upon which was superposed 
the belief of generations. Below, it was kneeling, 
crushed by prayer, with the Twelfth Century chapels of 
the circumference, with full arched windows, bare, orna- 
mented only with slender little columns beneath the 
archivaults. Then, it felt itself upraised, the face and 


LE REVE. 


93 


Laiuld towards lieaven, with the ogive windows of the 
nave, constructed eighty years later, lol’ty, slender win- 
dows, divided by ribs and cross -springers, wbicli bore 
cleft arches and roses. Then, it quitted the ground, 
ravished, erect, with the counterforts and the buttresses 
of the choir, retouched and ornamented two centuries 
afterwards, in the full blaze of the Gothic, loaded with lit- 
tle belfrys, spires and pinnacles. Spouts, at the base of 
the buttresses, carried off the water from the roofs. 
They had added a balustrade garnished with clover, bor- 
dering the terrace, upon the chapels of the arch. The 
roof, also, was adorned with flowerwork. And the entire 
edifice bloomed as it drew nearer heaven in a continual 
rapture, delivered from the old sacerdotal terror, going to 
lose itself in the bosom of a God of pardon and love. It 
had the physical sensation of this, it was joyous and 
happy as if with a hymn which it had sung, very pure, 
very sharp, losing itself very high above. 

Besides, the cathedral lived. Swallows by hun- 
dreds had built their nests beneath the girdles of clover, 
even in the hollows of the little belfrys and pinnacles, 
and, constantly, in their flights they grazed the but- 
tresses and counterforts which they peopled. Also the 
ring-doves of the elms of the bishop’s house bridled up 
on the border of the terraces, walking with short steps 
like promenaders. Sometimes, lost in the blue, scarcely 
as big as a fl}^, a crow smoothed its feathers on the point 
of a spire. Plants, a whole flora, lichens, dog-grass 
which grew in the clefs of the walls, animated the old 
stones with the secret labor of their roots. On the days 
of heavy rains, the entire arch awoke and growled amid 


94 


LE rSVE. 


the roaring of the shower beating the leaden sheets of 
the roof, flowing away through the gutters of the gal- 
leries, rolling from story to story with the din of an 
overflowed torrent. Even the terrible gales of wind of 
October and March gave it a soul ; a voice of anger and 
complaint, when they blew through its forest of gables 
and arcatures, of roses and little columns. Finally, the 
sun gave it life with the merry play of the light, from the 
morning, which rejuvenated it with a blonde gayety, 
until the evening, which, beneath the slowly elongated 
shadows, buried it in the unknown. And it had its in- 
terior existence, like the throbbing of its veins, the cere- 
monies with which it vibrated throughout, with the peal 
of the bells, the music of the organs and the hymns of 
tlie priests. Life always quivered in it: confused 

sounds, the murmur of a low mass, the light kneeling of 
a woman, a shiver scarcely divined, nothing but the 
devout ardor of a praj^er, uttered without words, with 
closed mouth. 

Now that the days were growing longer, Angdlique, 
morning and evening, remained for a long while wdth 
her elbows leaned on the balcony, side by side with her 
huge friend, the cathedral. She loved it best in the 
evening, when she saw only its enormous mass detach 
itself in a block upon the starry sky. The tiers were 
obscured, she barely distinguished the buttresses thrown 
like bridges into space. She felt that it was awake be- 
neath the darkness, full of a dream of seven centuries, 
big with the crowds which had hoped and despaired be- 
fore its altars. It was a continuous watch, coming from 
the infinite of tlie past, going to the eternity of ‘the 


LE REVE. 


95 


future, the mysterious and terrifying watcn of a house 
in which God could not sleep. And, in the black, mo- 
tionless and living mass, her glances always turned to 
the window of a cha})el of the choir, on a level with the 
shrubs of the Clos-Marie, the only one which was 
lighted up, like a vague eye open upon the night. Be- 
hind, at the angle of a pillar, burned a sanctuary lamp. 
This chapel happened to be the one which the abbes of 
the past had given to Jean V. of Hautecoeur and his 
descendants, with the right to be buried there, as a re- 
ward for their bounty. Consecrated to Saint George, it 
had a stained glass window of the Twelfth Century, 
upon which one saw depicted the legend of the saint. 
In the twilight the legend sprang up again luminous 
from the darkness, like an apparition ; and that was why 
Angelique, her eyes dreamy and charmed, loved the 
window. 

The background of the stained glass was blue and the 
border red. Upon this background, of a sombre rich- 
ness, the personages, the bareness of whom was shown 
by their floating draperies, were raised in bright hues, 
each part made of stained glass, shaded with black, and 
set ill lead. Three scenes of the legend, superposed, 
occupied the window as far as the archivault. In 
the lower one, the king’s daughter, who had come 
out of the city in ro}^al robes, to be eaten, had met Saint 
George beside the pool, irom which ali*eady the head of 
the monster was emerging ; and a streamer bore these 
words : “ Goode chevalier, doe not perish for mee, as you 
can neither ayde nor deliver mee, but will die with mee.” 
Then, in. the centre one was the combat, the saint on 


96 


LE REVE. 


horseback, piercing the monster through and through, 
which was explained by this phrase : “ George soe 
brandished his lance that hee did wounde the dragon 
and cast him upon the grouiide.” Finally, in the top 
one, the king’s daughter was leading the vanquished 
monster to the city : “ George sayde : ‘Cast your girdle 

aboute his necke, and feare nothing, beauteous mayden.’ 
And when she had donne this, the dragon followed her 
like a very goode-natured dogge.” At the period of its 
erection the stained glass window must have been sur- 
mounted, in the full arch, by an ornamental motive. 
But, later, when the chapel belonged to the Hautecoours, 
they replaced this motive with their coat-of-arms. And 
thus it was that, during the dark nights, brilliant armorial 
bearings of more recent workmanship flamed above the 
legend. Quartei*ed, one and four, two and three, of 
Jerusalem and of Hautecoeur ; of Jerusalem, which was 
of silver with the golden cross with cross-pieces at each 
end, stationed with four small crosses of gold ; of 
Hautecoeur, which was of azure with the fortress of gold, 
with a sable escutcheon with a heart of silver suspended, 
the whole accompanied by three fleurs de lys of gold, 
two at the top and one at the bottom. The shield was 
sustained on the dexter and sinister sides by two 
chimeras of gold, and crested in the centre by plumes of 
azure, by a casque of silver, damaskened with gold, 
placed frontwise and closed with eleven bars, which was 
the casque of dukes, marshals of France, titled seigneurs 
and chiefs of sovereign companies. And the motto was : 
“ If God wishes, I wish.” 

.Gradually, by dint qS seeing him piercing the monster 


LE r£vE. 


97 


with his lance, while the king’s daughter raised her 
clasped hands, Angelique had acquired a passion for 
Saint George. At that distance, she distinguished tlie 
figures imperfectly, she saw them through the magnify- 
ing medium of a dream, the girl slender and blonde, 
with her own countenance, the saint, white and superb, 
of the beauty of an archangel. It was she whom he 
had just delivered and she would have kissed his hands 
in gratitude. And, with this adventure, of which she 
dreamed confusedly, a meeting on the shore of a lake, a 
great peril from which she was saved by a young man 
more beautiful than the day, was mingled the recollec- 
tion of her walk to the Chateau of Hautecoeur, a conju- 
ring up of the feudal donjon, standing beneath the sky, 
peopled by the mighty seigneurs of the past. The 
armorial bearings shone like a star of summer nights, 
she knew them well, read them fluently, with their sono- 
rous words, she who often embroidered blazons. Jean 
V. stopped from door to door, in a town ravaged by the 
plague, went up-stairs to kiss the dying on the face and 
cured them by saying ; “ If God wishes, I wish.” Feli- 
cien III., notified that a malady prevented Philippe le 
Bel from going to Palestine, Avent there for him, bare- 
footed, a wax candle in his hand, for which a quarter 
of the arms of Jerusalem had been granted him. 
Other and still other stories were evoked, especially 
those of the ladies of Hautecoeur, the Happy Dead, as 
the legend styled them. In the family, the women had 
died young, in the full flush of happiness. Sometimes, 
two or three generations had been spared, then Death 
had reappeared, smiling, with gentle hands, and had car* 
6 


98 


LE REVE. 


ried off the daughter or the wife of a Hautecoeur, tlie 
oldest at twenty years of age, at the moment of some 
great love felicity. Laurette, daughter of Raoul I., on 
the evening of her betrothal with her cousin Richard, 
who dwelt in the chateau, having placed herself at her 
window, perceived him at his, from the tower of David 
to the tower of Charlemagne; and she believed that he 
was calling her, and as a ray of the moon threw between 
them a bridge of brightness, she walked towards him ; but, 
in the middle, in her haste, a false step made her quit the 
ray, she fell and was crushed at the foot of the towers ; 
so it happens that, since that time, every night when the 
moon is clear, she walks in the air about the chateau 
which the mute touch of her immense robe bathes with 
whiteness. Balbine, wife of Herve VII., believed for 
six months that her husband had been slain in the war ; 
then, one morning while she was still waiting for him at 
the top of the donjon, she recognized him returning on 
the road, she descended on a run, so wild with joy that 
she died of it on the last step of the stairway; and, 
to-day, through the ruins, as soon as the twilight fell, 
she yet descended, they saw her run from story to story, 
flit through the passages and the rooms, pass like a 
shadow behind the gaping windows, open upon space. 
All returned, Ysabeau, Gudule, Yvonne, Austreberthe, 
all the Happy Dead, beloved by Death, who had spared 
them life by bearing them away on his wings very 
young, in the delight of their first happiness. On cer- 
tain nights their white flight filled the chateau, like a 
flight of dvoes. And up to the last of them, the mother 
of the son of Monseigneur, whom they had found 


LE REVE. 


99 


extended lifeless before the cradle of her child, where in 
her sickness she had dragged herself to die, struck down 
by the joy of* kissing him. These stories haunted 
Angelique’s imagination: sbe spoke of them as realities 
which had .occurred the night before; she had read the 
names of Laurette and Balbine upon old tumulary 
stones, let into the walls of the chapel. Then, why 
should she not die young, happy also? The armorial 
bearings shone, the saint descended from his stained 
glass window and she was borne away to heaven in the 
slight breath of a kiss. 

The Legend had taught this to her: is not the nliracle 
the common rule ? It exists in the acute state, continu- 
ously, works with an extreme facility, at every turn, 
multiplies itself, spreads out, overflows, even uselessly, 
for the pleasure of nullifying the laws of nature. One 
lives on a familiar footing with God. Abagar, king of 
Edesse, writes to Jesus, who answers him. Ignace 
receives letters from the Virgin. In all places the 
Mother and the Son appear, assume disguises and chat 
with an air of smiling good-nature. When he meets 
tliem, fitienne is full of familiarity. All the virgins 
wed Jesus, and the martyrs ascend to Pleaven to unite 
themselves to Mary. And as to the angels and saints, 
they are the ordinary companions of man, go, come, 
pass through walls, show themselves in dreams, speak 
from the tops of clouds, are present at births and 
deaths, support during tortures, deliver from dungeons, 
bring answers and execute commissions. Their steps 
are attended by an inexhaustible bloom of prodigies. 
Silvestre fastens the jaws of a dragon with a thread. 


100 


LE REVE. 


The soil upheaves to serve as a seat for Hilaire, whom 
his companions wished to humiliate. A precious stone 
falls in the chalice of Saint Loup. A 'tree crushes the 
enemies of Saint Martin, a dog leaves a hare and a con- 
flagration ceases to burn when he so orders. Mary, the 
Egyptian, walks upon the sea, honey bees escape from 
the mouth of Ambroise at his birth. Continually the 
saints cure sore ej^es, paralyzed or withered limbs, lep- 
rosy and especially the plague. Not a malady resists 
the sign of the cross. In a crowd, the sick and the 
weak are put aside to be cured en masse by a flash of 
lightning. Death is conquered and resurrections are so 
frequent that they enter into the events of each day. 
And, when the saints themselves have breathed their 
last, the prodigies do nqt stop, they redouble and are as 
the living flowers of their tombs. Two springs of oil, a 
sovereign remedy, flow from the feet and head of Nicho- 
las. A perfume of roses ascends from the coffin of 
Cecile, when it is opened. That of Dorothee is full 
of manna. All the bones of the virgins and martyrs 
woi’k wonders, confound liars, force robbers to restore 
their thefts, grant the wishes of sterile women and 
restore health to the dying. Nothing is any longer 
impossible, the invisible reigns and the only law is the 
caprice of the supernatural. In the temples the enchant- 
ers take part, one sees sickles cut of themselves and ser- 
pents of brass move, one hears statues of bronze laugh 
and wolves sing. Immediately the saints respond and 
overwhelm them : hosts are changed into living flesh, 
images of Christ let blood flow from them, sticks planted 
in the ground bloom, springs burst forth, loaves of warm.^ 


LE r£ive; 


101 


bread multiply at the feet of the poor, a tree bows and 
worships Jesus ; and, again, tbe cut off heads speak, the 
broken chalices repair themselves, the rain avoids a 
church to destroy the neighboring palaces, and the 
robes of the hermits do not wear out, but renew them- 
selves every season like the coats of animals. In 
Armenia, the pei’secutors cast into the sea the leaden 
coffins of five martvrs, and that which contains the 
body of the apostle Barthelerny takes the head, and the 
four others accompany it to do it honor, and all of , 
them, in the perfect order of a squadron, float slowly 
beneath the breeze, through long stretches of sea, as far 
as the coast of Sicilv. 

Angelique believed firmly in miracles. In her ignor- 
ance she lived surrounded by prodigies, the rising of the 
stars and the blooming of simple violets. It seemed 
foolish to her to imagine the world like a machine, reg- 
ulated by fixed laws. So many things escaped her, she 
felt so bewildered, so weak, amid forces the power of 
which it was impossible for her to measure, and which 
she would not even have suspected, had it not been for 
the great breaths which sometimes passed over her face. 
Hence, like a Christian of the primitive church, fed by 
reading the Legend, she abandoned herself inertly in 
the hands of God, with the stain of original sin to 
efface ; she had no liberty, God alone could work her re- 
demption by sending her the grace ; and the grace con- 
sisted in having brought her beneath the roof of the 
Huberts, within the shadow of the cathedral, to live a 
life of submission, purity and belief. She heard the 
^hereditary evil growling in the depths of her being: 


102 


LE REVE. 


wlio couU tell what she would have become in the natal 
soil ? — a bad girl without doubt ; whereas she was grow- 
ing np in new health every season in this blessed nook. 
Was not the grace those surroundings composed of tales 
which she knew by heart, of the faith she had drunk 
there, of the mystic beyond in which she bathed, those 
surroundings of the invisible in which miracles seemed 
natural to her, on a level with her daily existence? 
They armed her for the battle of life as the grace armed 
the martyrs. And she created them herself without her 
knowledge; they were born of her imagination heated 
by fiibles, by the unconscious wishes of her girlhood, tliey 
enlarged themselves with everything of which she was 
ignorant, evoked themselves from the unknown wdiich 
was in her and in things. All came from her to return 
to her, man created God to save man, nothing was there 
but the dream. Sometimes she grew astonished and 
touched her face, full of trouble, doubting her own ma- 
teriality. Was she not an appearance which would van- 
ish, after having created an illusion? 

One night in May, on that balcony where she passed 
so many long hours, she bur'st into tears. She had no 
sorrow, she was upset by an expectation, although no 
one was coming. It was very dark, the Clos-Marie dug 
itself out like a hole of gloom beneath the sky riddled 
with stars, and she distinguished only the black masses 
of the old elms, of the bishop’s house and of the Hotel 
Voin court. The stained glass window of the chapel 
alone was bright. If no one were coming, why then did 
her heart beat thus, with heavy throbs? It was an ex- 
pectation which dated from afar, from the depths of her 


LE REVE. 


103 


childhood, an expectation which had grown with age to 
result in that anxious fever of her seventeen years. 
Nothing would have surprised her, for weeks she had 
heard voices buzzing in that corner of mystery peopled 
by her imagination. The Legend had let loose there its 
supernatural world of male and female saints, a miracle 
was about to bloom there. She well understood that all 
was animated, that the voices came from things silent in 
the past, that the leaves of the trees, the waters of the 
Ghevrotte and the stones of the cathedral were talking 
to her. But whom were the whispers of the invisible 
thus announcing, what did those unknown forces, breath- 
ing from the beyond and floating in the air, wish to 
make of her? She remained with her eyes upon the 
darkness, as if at a rendezvous which no one had given 
her, and she waited, waited constantly, until ready to 
fall with sleep, while she felt the unknown deciding 
upon her life in spite of her own will. 

During four evenings, Angelique wept thus, in the 
sombre darkness. She returned there and was patient. 
The envelopment around her continued, augmented each 
evening, as if the horizon had contracted and oppressed 
her. The things weighed upon her heart, the voices 
now buzzed in the depths of her skull, though she could 
not hear them any more distinctly. It was a slow tak- 
ing possession, all nature, the earth with its vast sky 
entering into her being. At the slightest sound her 
hands burned and her eyes strove to pierce the gloom. 
Was it at last tlie expected prodigy? No. nothing yet, 
nothing but the flapping of the wings of a bird of the 
night, without doubt. And she listened again, she dis- 


•104 


LE rSvE. 

tinguisbed even tlie diff’erent rustling of tlie leaves, in 
the elms and in the willows. Twenty times thus a 
quiver shook her all over when a stone rolled into the 
brook or a roving animal glided from a wall. She bent 
forward, fainting. Nothing, nothing yet. 

Finally, one evening, when a warmer obscurity was 
falling from a moonless sky, something began. She 
feared she was deceiving herself, it was so slight, almost 
imperceptible, a little sound, new among the sounds 
with which she was acquainted. It was slow in repro- 
ducing itself, she held her breath. Then, it was heard 
louder, but still confused. She thought it the distant 
noise, scarcely divined, of a footfall, that trembling of 
the air announcing an approach, beyond sight and hear- 
ing. What she was awaiting was coming from the 
invisible, was emerging slowly from all that quivered 
about her. Piece by piece it disengaged itself from her 
dream, like a realization of the vague wishes of her 
girlhood. Was it the Saint George of the stained glass 
window, who, with his mute feet of a painted image, was 
treading down the high grass to climb up to her ? The 
window just then was pale, she no longer saw the saint 
clearly, but like a little purple cloud, blurred and evap- 
orated. That night she was unable to learn more. 
But the next night, at the same hour, in the same 
obscurity, the sound augmented, approached somewhat. 
It was a sound of footsteps, certainly, of dream footsteps 
grazing the ground. They ceased, they were resumed, 
here and there, without it being possible for her to locate 
them. Perhaps they came to her from the garden of 
the* Voincourts," some nocturnal promenader delayed 


LE HEVE. 


105 


beneath the elms. Perhaps, rather, they came from the 
bushy groves of the bishop’s house, from the huge lilacs 
the violent odor of which stifled her. In vain did she 
search the darkness, only her hearing warned her of the 
expected prodigy and also her sense of smell, that 
increased perfume of the flowers, as if a breath had 
been mixed with it. And, during several nights, the cir- 
cle of the footsteps narrowed beneath the balcony, she 
heard them advance to the wall at her feet. There they 
stopped and a long silence then ensued, and the envelop- 
ment was completed, that slow and growing pressure 
of the unknown in which she felt herself fainting. 

The following evenings, among the stars, she saw the 
slender crescent of the new moon appear. But the orb 
declined with the closing day and went off behind the 
roof of the cathedral, like an eye of lively brightness 
which the lid covers. She followed it, watched it 
enlarge at each twilight, impatient for that torch which 
would finally light up the- invisible. Little by little, in 
fact, the Clos-Marie emerged from the obscurity, with the 
ruins of its old mill, its clumps of trees and its rapid 
brook. And then, in the light, the creation continued. 
What had come from the dream finished by assuming 
the shadow of a body. For she perceived at first only a 
dim shadow, moving beneath the moon. What was it ? 
— the shadow of a branch swayed by the Avind? Some- 
times everything vanished, the field slept in an immo- 
bility of death and she believed the whole matter an 
hallucination of her sight. Tlien, doubt Avas no longer 
possible: a dark stain had crossed a lighted space, gliding 
from one willow to another. She lost it, found it again, 


106 


LE REVE* 


without ever succeeding in defining it. One evening, 
she believed she recognized the swift flight of two 
shoulders, and her e}^es tamed instantly towards the 
stained glass window: it was grayish, as if empty, 
faded by the moon, which cast its full brightness upon 
it. From that moment she noticed that the living 
shadow lengthened, approached her window, advancing 
constantly from dark holes to dark holes among the 
grass along the church. In proportion as she divined it 
nearer, an increasing emotion took possession of her, 
that nervous sensation one feels on being looked at by 
mysterious eyes which one does not see. Surely, a being 
was there, beneath the leaves, who, with lifted glances, 
was constantly watching her. She had upon her hands, 
upon her visage, the physical impression of those glances, 
long, very mild and even timid ; she did not hide her- 
self from them, because she felt that they were pure, 
come from the enchanted world of the Legend ; and her 
first anxietjT' was changed into a delicious trouble, in her 
certainty of happiness. One night, suddenly, upon the 
ground white with moonlight, the shadow was stamped 
in a frank and clear outline, tlie shadow of a man whom 
she could not see, hidden behind the willows. The man 
did not stir, and she watched the shadow. 

From that time Angelique had a secret. Her bare, 
whitewashed chamber, all white, was full of it. She 
remained for hours in her vast bed, where she lost her- 
self, so slight, her-' eyes closed, but not sleeping, con- 
stantly seeing again that motionless shadow upon the 
shining ground. At dawn, when she reopened her eye- 
lids, her glances went from the enormous cupboard to the 


LE REVE. 


107 


old chest, from the faience stove to the little toilet table, 
in her surprise at not finding there the mysterious sil- 
houette, which she could have drawn with a sure stroke 
from memory. While asleep she had seen it glide among 
the pale sweet broom of her curtains. Her dreams, like 
her watch on the balcony, were peopled by it. It was 
a shadow companion of hers, she had two shadows, 
although she was alone with her dream. And she did 
not confide this secret to any one, not even to Hubertine, 
to whom until then she had told everything. When the 
latter questioned her, astonished at her joy, she grew 
very red and answered that the precocious spring made 
her joyous. From morning until evening she hummed, 
like a fly intoxicated with the early sunshine. Never 
had the chasubles which she embroidered flamed with 
such a splendor of silk and gold. The Huberts, smiling, 
simply believed her in excellent health. Her gayety 
increased in proportion as the day drew nearer its 
close, she sang when the moon rose, and when the 
hour had arrived she bent over the balcony and saw 
the shadow. During the whole quarter she found 
it punctual at each rendezvous, straight and silent, 
without being able to discover more, ignorant of the 
being that produced it. Was it then but a shadow, 
an appearance only, perhaps the saint vanished from the 
stained glass window, perhaps the angel who had loved 
Cecile in the past and who had descended to love her 
in her turn? This thought made her proud, was very 
agreeable to her, like a caress come from the invisible. 
Then she was seized with impatience to become 
acquainted with it and her waiting recommenced. 


108 


LE REVE. 


The moon, at its full, lighted up the Clos-Maric. 
When it was at the zenith, the trees, beneath the white 
light which fell perpendicularly, had no longer any 
shadows, like fountains gushing with. mute brightness. 
The entire field was bathed with it, a luminous flood 
filled it,. of the limpidity of crystal ; and the brilliancy 
of it was so penetrating that one could even distin- 
guish the fine nicks in the leaves of the willows. The 
least quiver of the air seemed to wrinkle this lake of 
rays, asleep in its sovereign peace, between the tall elms 
of the neighboring gardens and the gigantic croup of 
the cathedral. 

Two more evenings had passed, when, the third night, 
on coming to lean over the balcony, Angelique received 
a violent shock at her heart. There, in the vivid bright- 
ness, she saw him standing, turned towards her. His 
shadow, as well as those of the trees, was shrunken 
beneath his feet, had disappeared. There was no longer 
anything there but him, very distinct. At that dis- 
tance, she saw him as in broad day, aged twenty, fair, 
tall and slender. He resembled Saint George, a superb 
Jesus, with his curly locks, his slight beard, his straight 
nose, somewhat strong, and his black eyes of a stately 
mildness. And she recognized him perfectly: never 
had she beheld him otherwise, it was he, it was thus 
that she had expected him. The prodigy was accom- 
plished at last, the slow creation of the invisible had 
resulted in this living apparition. He had come from 
the unknown, from the quiver of things, from the mur- 
muring voices, from the moving play of the darkness, 
from all that which had enveloped her, even to making 


LE REVE. 


109 


her faint. She also saw him two feet from the ground, 
in the supernaturalness of his coining, while the miracle 
surrounded him on every side, floating upon the mys- 
terious lake of the moon. He had for his escort all the 
people of the Legend, the sainls whose rods bloomed, 
the female saints whose wounds sent forth showers of 
milk. And the' white flight of the virgins paled the 
stars. 

Angelique gazed at him steadilj^ He raised both his 
arms and extended them, wide open. She was not 
afraid, she smiled upon Imn. 


110 


LE Ti£vE. 


CHAPTER Y. 

FELICIEN. 

I T was an important affair, every three months, when 
Hubert! lie prepared the lye for washing. They 
hired a woman, M^re Gabet ; during four days the 
embroideries were forgotten ; and Angelique herself par- 
ticipated in it, and afterwards made a recreation for her- 
self of the soaping and rinsing in the clear waters of the 
Chevrotte. When the linen came out of the lye, they 
took it in a wheelbarrow through the little communi- 
cating door. They lived during the days in the Clos- 
Marie, in the open air and the glaring sunlight. 

“ Mother, this time I am going to wash, it amuses me 
so much ! ” 

And, shaken with laughter, her sleeves rolled up above 
her elbows, brandishing the beater, Angelique tapped 
stoutly, in the joy and healthfulness of that rude toil 
which splashed her with suds. 

“It hardens my arms and does me good, mother!” 
The Chevrotte cut the field obliquely, at first calm, 
then very rapid, rushing down a pebbly slope. It emerged 
from the garden of the bishop’s house through a sort of 
flood-gate, left at the base of the wall ; and, at the other 
end, at the angle of the Hotel Yoincourt, it disappeared 
beneath a vaulted arch, plunged into the ground, to re- 
a[)pear, two hundred metres further away, all along the 
Rue Basse, as far as the Ligneul, where it emptied. 


LE KEVE. 


Ill 


Ilence it was imperative to keep a watch on the linen, 
for in vain one ran : every piece dropped was a piece 
lost. 

“ Mother, wait, wait ! I am going to pnt this big stone 
on the napkins. We’ll see if it will carry them off, the 
thief!” 

She put down the stone, she turned to pull another 
from the ruins of the mill, delighted to expend her 
strength, to fatigue herself ; and, when she had bruised 
a finger, she shook it, she said it was nothing. During 
the day, the family of poor people, who had taken shel- 
ter beneath those ruins, went away in quest of alms, 
scattered over the roads. The close remained solitary, 
of a delicious and cool solitude, with its clumps of pale 
willows, its tall poplars, its grass especially, its overflow 
of wild grass, so luxuriant that it came up to one’s 
shoulders. A quivering silence came from the two 
neighboring parks, the huge trees of which barred the 
horizon. From three o’clock the shadow of the cathe- 
dral stretched out, of a religious mildness, of an evapo- 
rated perfume of incense. 

And she beat the linen harder, with all the strength 
of her fresh and white arm. 

“ Mother, mother ! how I shall eat this evening ! Ah 1 
you know, you promised me a strawberry tart! ” 

But, for that wash, the rinsing day, Angelique 
remained alone. M5re Gabet, suffering from a sudden 
crisis of her sciatica, had not come; and other household 
cares kept Hubert! ne at home. Kneeling in her box 
lined with straw, the young girl took the pieces one by 
one, shook them for a long time, until they no longer 


112 


LE EEVE. 


discolored the water, of a limpidity of crystal. She did 
not hasten, she had felt since morning an uneasy curios- 
ity, having been, astonished to find there an old workman 
in a gray blouse, who was erecting a light scaffold before 
the window of the Hautecoeur chapel. Did they wdsh 
to repair the stained glass window? It had great need 
of it: glasses were lacking in the Saint George; others, 
broken in the course of centuries, were replaced by plain 
glass. However, this irritated her. She was so accus- 
tomed to the gaps in the saint piercing the dragon, and 
in the king’s daughter leading it away with her girdle, 
that she was already lamenting them, as if it had been 
the design to mutilate them. There was sacrilege in 
changing things so old. And suddenly, when she came 
back from breakfast, her anger vanished; a second work- 
man was upon the scaffold, a young man, also clad in a 
gray blouse. And she had recognized him, it was he. 

Gayly, without embarrassment, Angdlique resumed 
Iier place, on her knees in the straw of her box. Then, 
with her bare wrists, she resumed shaking the linen in 
the depths of the clear water. It was he, tall, slender, 
fair, with his slight beard and his curly locks of a young 
god, with skin as white as she had seen him beneath 
the whiteness of the moon. Since it was he, the stained 
glass window had nothing to fear: if he touched it, he 
would embellish it. And she experienced no disillusion 
on finding him again clad in that blouse, a toiler like 
herself, a glass painter without doubt. That, on the 
contrary, made her smile, in her absolute belief in her 
dream of royal fortune. There was only appearance. 
What was the good of knowing ? Some morning he 


LE REVE. 


113 


would be wbat lie ouglit to be. The rain of gold guslied 
from the roof of the cathedral, a triumphal march burst 
forth amid the distant roar of the organs. She did not 
even ask herself what road he took to be there night - 
and day. Unless he dwelt in one of the neighboring 
mansions, he could pass only through the lane of the 
Guerdaches, which ran along the wall of the bishop’s 
house as far as the Rue Magloire. 

Then, a charming hour passed. She bent over, she 
rinsed her linen, her face almost touching the cool 
water; but, at each new piece, she raised her head and' 
cast a glance in which, amid the agitation of her heart, 
was just a suspicion of mischief. And he, upon the 
scaffold, with the air of being greatly occupied in ascer- 
taining the condition of the stained j^lass window, 
glanced at her sidewise, disconcerted when she surprised 
him thus, turned towards her. It was astonishing how 
quickly his exceedingly white face turged red, its tint 
suddenly colored. At the slightest emotion, anger or 
tenderness, all the blood of his veins mounted to his face. 
He had eyes of battle, and he was so timid when he felt 
that she was examining him that he again became a 
little child, embarrassed by his hands, stammering out 
orders to the old man, his companion. What delighted 
her, in that water the turbulence of which cooled her 
arms, was to divine him innocent like herself, ignorant 
of everything, with the greedy desire to bite at life. 
One has no need to say aloud what he is, invisible mes- 
sengers announce it, dumb mouths repeat it. She raised 
her head, surprised him turning his away, and the 
minutes flew bv, and that was delicious. 

7 


114 


LE REVE. 


Suddenly she saw him spring from the scaffold, then 
walk backwards away from it through the grass, as if to 
take the field in order to get a better view. But she 
nearly bursting out laughing, so clear was it that he merely 
wished to get nearer to her. When he had leaped down, 
it was with the fierce decision of a man who risked 
everything, and now the touching drollery was that he 
remained planted a few paces away, turning his back to 
her, not daring to wheel about, mortally embarrassed by 
his too impulsive action. For an instant she believed 
that he would set off’ again towards the stained glass 
window, as he had come, without casting a glance 
behind. However, he took a desperate resolution, he 
turned; and, as she had just raised her head with her 
mischievous laugh, their glances met, remained one 
within the other. Both of them were greatly confused 
by this : they lost countenanee, they would never have 
come out of it had not a dramatic incident happened. 

“Oh ! mon Dieu!” cried she, distracted. 

In her emotion, the dimity camisole, which she had 
been rinsing with an unconscious hand, had escaped 
from her; and the rapid brook was bearing it away; and 
in another minute it would disappear, at the corner of 
the wall of the Voincourts, beneath the vaulted arch 
into which the Chevrotte plunged. 

There were a few seconds of jfnguish. He had under- 
stood and sprung forward. But the current was bound- 
ing over the pebbles and that fiend of a camisole flew 
along more quickly than he. He bent down, believing 
it in his grasp, but seizing only a handful of foam. He 
missed it twice. Finally, excited, with the bravo air 


LE REVE. 


115 


with which one casts one’s self at the peril of one’s life, 
he entered the water and saved the camisole just at the 
moment when it was about diving into the ground. 

Angelique, who, up to that time, had anxiously fol- 
lowed the attempt at rescue, felt -laughter, hearty laugh- 
ter ascend from her sides. Ah ! that adventure which 
she had dreamed about so much, that meeting on the 
border of a lake, that terrible danger from which a young 
man more beautiful than the day delivered her! Saint 
George, the tribune, the warrior, was only that painter 
on glass, that young workman in a gray blouse 1 When 
she saw him return, his legs soaked, holding the dripping 
camisole in an awkward fashion, comprehending the 
ridiculousness of the excitement he had displayed in 
snatching it from the flood, she was forced to bite her 
lips to restrain the burst of gayety which was tickling 
her throat. 

He forgot himself in looking at her. She was so 
adorable in her childishness, in that laughter which slie 
suppressed and with which all her youth vibrated! 
Splashed with water, her arms cooled by the current, 
slie gave forth an odor of purity, of the limpidity of 
living springs gushing from the moss of forests. She 
was health and joy in the broad sunlight. One divined 
in her the good housewife and the queen besides, in her 
work dress, with her straight form, her long visage of a 
king’s daughter, such as is found in the depths of the 
legends. And he no longer knew how to return her the 
linen, so beautiful did he think her, of the beauty of art 
which he loved. What enraged him more was to have 
the air of a simpleton, for he perceived very clearly the 


116 


LE BEVE. 


effort she was mating in order not to laugh. He was 
forced to come to a decision, he handed her the camisole. 

Then, Angelique comprehended that, if she opened 
her' lips, she would burst out. That poor fellow! he 
touched her greatly ; but it was irresistible, she was too 
happy, she was overflowing with a need of laughing, of 
laughing until her breath was gone. 

Finally, she believed that she could speak and en- 
deavored simply to say : 

“ Thank vou, monsieur.” 

«/ f 

But the laughter had returned, the laughter made her 
stammer, checked her words; and the laughter rang out 
very loudly, a rain of sonorous notes, which sang to the 
crystalline accompaniment of the Chevrotte. He, dis- 
concerted, said nothing, not a word. His white face had 
suddenly turned purple ; his eyes of a timid child flamed, 
like the eyes of an eagle. And he went away, he disap- 
peared with the old workman while she was still laugh- 
ing, bent over the clear water, splashing herself anew in 
rinsing her linen, in the glorious happiness of that day. 

On the morrow, as early as six o’clock, they spread 
out the linen, the mass of which had been draining since 
the previous day. It happened that a strong wind had 
arisen which aided the drvingr. In order that the pieces 
might not be blown away, tliey were even compelled to 
fasten them down with stones at the four corners. All 
the wash was there, spread out, very white amid the 
. green grass, giving forth the good odor of plants ; and 
the field seemed to have suddenly bloomed into snowy 
sheets of Easter daisies. 

After- breakfast, when she returned to take a look 


117 


LE r£vE. 

around, Angelique was filled with despair : the entire 
wash threatened to blow away, so strong had the gusts 
of wind grown, in the blue sky, of a bright limpidity, as 
if purified by those great puffs ; and already a sheet had 
gone, napkins had plastered themselves upon the branches 
of a willow. She caught the napkins. But, behind her, 
some handkerchiefs started off*. And nobody was there ! 
— she was losing her head ! When she strove to spread 
out the sheet, she was forced to struggle with it. It 
stunned her, enveloped her with the flapping of a flag. 
In the wind, she then heard a voice which said : 

“ Mademoiselle, would you like me to help you? ” 

It was he, and immediately she cried, without other 
preoccupation than her anxiety as a housewife : 

“Of course, help me, please! Take the end down 
there and hold on tightly 1 ” 

The sheet, which they stretched with their strong 
arms, flapped like a sail. Then, they placed it upon the 
grass, they put heavier stones at the four corners. And, 
now when it had sunk down, subdued, neither he nor she 
arose from their kneeling posture at the two ends, separated 
by that big piece of linen of a dazzling whiteness. 

She finished by smiling, but without mischief, her 
smile was one of thankfulness. He grew bolder. 

“I am called Felicien.” 

“ And I Angelique.” 

“ I am a painter on glass, they have engaged me to 
repair that stained glass window.” 

“ I live there, with my parents, and I am an em- 
broiderer.” 

The high wind bore away their words, flagellated them 


118 


LE KEVE. 


with its vivacious purity, in the warm sunlight with 
which they were bathed. The}'’ told each other things 
that they knew, for the pleasure of saying them to each 
other. 

“ They are not going to re|)lace the stained ghass 
window, are they ? ” 

“ No, no. The repairs will not even be seen. I love 
it as much as you do.” 

“That’s true, I love it. It has such a soft color! I 
have embroidered a Saint George, but it was not so 
handsome.” 

“Oh 1 not so handsome I I have seen itf if it is the 
Saint George of the red velvet chasuble which the Abbe 
Cornille had on Sunday. A marvel 1 ” 

She bluslied with pleasure and suddenly cried to 
him : 

“Put a stone on the edge of the sheet, to your left. 
The wind is going to take it from us again!” 

He made haste, weighted the linen which had had a 
great palpitation, the beating of wings of a captive 
bird, endeavoring to fly again. And, as it no longer 
stirred, this time, they both arose. Now, she walked 
along the narrow pathways of grass, between the pieces, 
casting a glance at each one ; while he followed her, 
very busy, with the air of being enormously preoccupied 
by the possible loss of an apron or a dish-cloth. This 
seemed altogether natural. Hence she continued to 
cliat, relating her days’ doings and explaining her 
tastes. 

“As for me, I like things to be in their places. In 
the morning, a cuckoo clock in the workroom awakens 


LE REVE. 


119 


me always at six o’clock; and even if it should not be 
liglit I could dress myself very quickly : my stockings 
are here, the soap is there — a regular mania. Oh ! I 
was not born that way, I was disorderly ! Mother was 
forced to say a great deal about it ! And, in the work- 
room, I would not do any good, if my chair were not in 
the same place, facing the light. Fortunately, I am 
neither left-handed nor right-handed, and I embroider 
with both hands, which is an accomplishment, for every- 
body cannot do it. It’s like the flowers which I adore, 
I cannot keep a bouquet of them beside me without 
having terrible headaches. I can stand only violets, 
and it’s surprising, their odor rather calms me. At the 
least bad feeling I have but to smell violets and I am 
relieved.” 

He listened to her, delighted. He intoxicated himself 
with the sonority of her voice, which had an extreme, 
penetrating and prolonged charm ; and he must have 
been particularly sensitive to that human music, for the 
caressing inflexion upon certain syllables moistened his 
eyes. 

“ Ah ! ” said she, interrupting herself, “ the camisolcvS 
have soon dried.” 

Then, she finished her confidances, in the innocent 
and unconscious need of making herself known. 

“ White is always beautiful, is it not ? On certain 
days I have enough of blue, of red, of all the colors; 
while white is an absolute joy of which I never tire. 
There is nothing wounding about it, one wishes to lose 
one’s self in it. We had a white cat, with yellow spots, 
and I painted its spots. It looked very well, but the 


12G 


LE REVE. 


color did not kold. See here! — what mv mother does 

«/ 

not know is that I keep all the white silk waste, I have 
a drawer full of it, for nothing, for the pleasure of look- 
ing at the bits and touching them from time to time. 
And 1 have another secret, oh ! it’s a big one ! When 
I wake every morning, there is some one beside my 
bed, yes I a whiteness which flies away 1 ” 

He did not smile, he seemed firmly to believe her. 
Was it not simple and in the order of things? A 
young princess would not have conquered him so 
quickly, amid the magnificence of her court. She had, 
in the midst of all that white linen, upon that green 
grass, a grand air, charming, joyous and sovereign, 
which seized" upon his heart with a growing pressure. 
It was done, there was nothing but her, he would fol- 
low her to the end of life. She continued to walk, 
with her short, rapid step, and he still came on be- 
hind her, choking with this happiness, without any 
hope of ever attaining it. 

But a gust broke forth, a lot of small linen, per- 
cale collars and cufls, batiste fichus and neckerchiefs, 
sailed oft* and settled in the distance like a flock of 
white birds bowled along by a tempest. 

And Angdlique began to run. 

“ Ah 1 mon Dieu ! make haste, help me 1 ” 

Both of them dashed along. She caught a collar on 
the edge of the Chevrotte. He already held two necker- 
chiefs recovered amid some tall nettles. The cuft's, one 
by one, were reconquered. But, in their fleet skurry- 
ings, thiice had she grazed him with the flying folds of 
‘her skirt ; and, each time, his heart had given a leap, 


LE REVE. 


121 


hi, 3 face had suddenly turned red. In his turn he grazed 
her, as he made a bound to overtake the last fichti, 
which was escaping from him. She was standing mo- 
tionless, panting. A trouble drowned her laughter, she 
no longer joked, no longer made fun of that tall, inno- 
cent and awkward young fellow. What was the matter 
with her, that she was no longer merry and yielded thus 
to this delicious anguish ? When he offered her the 
fichu, their hands chanced to touch. They gave a start 
and contemplated each other in bewilderment. She 
drew back quickly, she stood for several seconds without 
knowing what course to take in the extraordinary 
catastrophe which had happened to her. Then, all at 
once, frightened, she ran away, escaped, her arms full of 
small linen, abandoning the rest. 

Felicien then strove to speak. 

“ Oh ! in pity- — I beg of you ” 

The wind had redoubled, it took a’Vi^ay his breath. In 
despair, he watched her running as if that high wind 
had carried her off. She was running amid the white-- 
ness of the sheets and tablecloths, in the pale gold of 
.the slanting sun. The shadow of the cathedral seemed 
to seize upon her, and she was on the point of going into 
the house, through the little door of the garden, without 
casting a look behind. But, on the threshold, she turned 
quickly, seized with a sudden kindness, not wishing that 
he should believe her too angry. And, confused, smiling, 
she cried out : “ Thank you ! thank }^ou ! ” 

Was it for aiding her to recover her linen that she 
thanked him? Was it for something else? She had 
. vanished and the door had closed after her. 


122 


LE KEVE. 


And he stood alone, in the middle of the field, beneath 
the great, regular gusts, which blowed vivifyingly in the 
clear sky. The elms of the bishop’s house were shaken 
with a rolling scund like* the surge of the sea, a loud 
voice clamored through the terraces and the buttresses 
of the cathedral. But he heard only the light flapping 
of a little cap, fastened to a lilac branch like a white 
bouquet, and which was hers. 

From that day forward, every time Angel ique opened 
her window, she saw Felicien below, in the Clos- Marie, 
lie had the pretext of the stained glass window, he 
lived there, though the work did not advance the least 
in the world. For hours he forgot himself behind a 
bush, stretched out on the grass, watching between the 
leaves. And it was so sweet to exchange a smile, morn- 
ing and evening. She, in her happiness, demanded 
nothing more. The lye washing would not occur again 
for three months,, and until then the garden door would 
remain closed. But, by dint of seeing each other daily, 
three months would very quickly pass ! — and, besides, 
was there a greater happiness than to live on in that 
way, through the day for the glance at evening, through 
the night for the glance in the morning ? 

At the time of the first meeting, Angelique had told 
everything, her habits, her tastes and the little secrets 
of her heart. He, silent, had said his name was Ftdi- 
cien,and she knew no other thing about him. Perhaps 
that was the way it ought to be, the woman giving her- 
self wholly, the man reserving himself in the unknown. 
She felt no hasty curiosity, but smiled at the idea of 
things that would surely be realized. Besides, what she 


LE REVE. 


123 



was ignorant of did not count, seeing each other only 
was important. She knew nothing about him, and yet 
she knew him so well that she could read his thoughts 
in his looks. He had come, she had recognized him and 
they loved each other. 

Then, they deliciously enjoyed that possession at a 
distance. It was an unceasing round of new delights, 
because of the discoveries they made. She had long 
hands, pricked by the needle, which he adored. She 
noticed his small feet and was proud of their smallness. 
Everything in him flattered her, she was grateful to him 
for being handsome, she experienced a violent joy the 
evening she ascertained that his beard was of a more 
ash-colored fairness than his hair, which gave his laugh 
an extreme sweetness. He went away bewildered with 
intoxication one morning when she had bent over and he 
had .seen a brown mark on her delicate neck. Their 
hearts also were unfolded to each other and furnished 
them with treasure-troves. Certainly, the ingenuous and 
haughty movement with which she opened the window 
said that, though but a little embroiderer, she possessed 
the soul of a queen. In the same way, he felt that she 
was kind, on seeing with what a light step she trod 
down the grass. A radiance of qualities and graces was 
about them at this early hour of their acquaintance. 
Each interview brought its charm. It seemed to them 
that they would never exhaust this felicity of seeing 
eacli other. 

Nevertheles, Felicien soon showed some impatience. 
He no longer remained stretched out for hours at the 
foot of a bush^ in the immobility of absolute happiness. 




124 LE REIVE. 

As soon as Angeliqiie appeared, leaning on the balcony 
rail, he grew uneasy and strove to draw nearer to her, 
and this at last angered her a little, for she feared that 
he might be seen. One day there was even a real quar- 
rel : he advanced as far as the wall and she felt com- 
pelled to quit the balcony. It was a catastrophe, he was 
upset by it, with a visage so eloquent of submission and 
entreaty that she forgave him on the morrow, when at 
the usual hour she came to lean on the balcony. But 
expectation no longer sufficed for him, and he recom- 
menced. Now, he seemed to be everywhere at once in 
the Clos-Marie, which he filled with his excitement. He 
emerged' fi-om behind each tree trunk and appeared 
above each tuft of briars. Like the ring-doves of the 
tall elms, he appeared to have his dwelling in the 
vicinity, between two branches. The Chevrotte was a 
pretext for him to live there, bent over the current, in 
which he had the air of following the flight of the 
clouds. One day she saw him among the ruins of the 
mill, standing upon the frame of a torn out shed, happy 
at being thus elevated a trifle, in his regret that he could 
not fly to her shoulder. Another day she stifled a slight 
cry on perceiving him above her, between two windows 
of the cathedral, upon the terrace of the choir chapels. 
How had he succeeded in reaching that gallery, closed 
by a door of which the beadle kept the key ? How 
was it, at other times, that she found him away up in the 
sky, among the buttresses of the nave and the pinnacles 
of the counterforts? From those heights, he plunged 
his gaze into the depths of her chamber, like the swal- 
lows flying about the points of the little belfries, which 


LE REVE. 


125 


saw her without her having the idea of concealing 
herself. And, from that time, she barricaded herself, 
and a growing trouble seized upon her, at finding herself 
invaded, at being always two. If she was not in haste, 
why then did her heai’t beat so strongly, like the hum 
of the belfry in the loud ringing of the great fetes? 

Three days passed, during which Angelique did not 
show herself, frightened by Felicien’s increasing audac- 
ity. She swore to herself that she .would see him no 
more, she excited herself to the point of detesting him. 
But he had communicated his fever to her, she could not 
remain still, any pretext was good enough for her to 
leave the chasuble which she was embroidering. Hence, 
havino^ learned that M^re Gabet was confined to her bed, 

O ; 

% 

in the deepest poverty, she went to visit her every morn- 
ing. The house was on the Rue des Orfevres, only three 
doors distant. She arrived with soup and sugar, and 
went down-stairs again to buy medicines at the pharmacy 
on the Grand’Rue. And, one day when she had re- 
turned, with her hands full of vials, she was amazed to 
find Felicien at the bedside of the sick old woman. 
He grew very red and slunk away awkwardly. The fol- 
lowing day, as she was departing, he presented himself 
again, and she discontentedly left him there. Did he 
wish to prevent her from seeing her poor? It chanced 
that she had just then been seized upon by one of those 
crises of charity which made her give away everything 
in order to load with benefits those who had nothing. 
Her being melted with pitiful fraternity at the idea of 
sufiering. She ran to the house of P^re Mascart, a 
blind -paralytic of the Rue Basse, to whom she fed 


% 


126 


LE REVE. 


with her own hands the bowl of soup which she had 
brought him; to the house of the Chouteaus, man and 
wife, two old folks of ninety, who occupied a cellar on 
the Eue Magloire, where she had brought old furniture 
taken from the garret of the Huberts; to the houses of 
others and of others still, to the houses of all the 
wretched ones of the quarter, whom she regaled in secret 
with things lying about her, delighted to surprise them 
and to see them radiant because of something that had 
been left over the day before. And henceforth every- 
where she went she met Felicien ! Never had she seen 
so much of him, she who shunned going to the window 
from the fear of seeing him again. Her trouble was 
augmented and she believed herself very angry. 

In this adventure the worst really was that Angdlique 
® soon despaired of her charity. This young man spoiled 
for her the joy of being good. Formerly he, perhaps, 
had other poor people, but not those, for he had not vis- 
ited them ; and he must have watclied her, come up- 
- stairs behind her to become acquainted with them and 
to take them from her thus, one after the other. Now, 
every time slie arrived at the house of the Chouteaus, 
Avith a basket of provisions, there was money upon the 
table. One day when she hastened to carry ten sous, her 
savings of the entire week, to P6re Mascart, Avho inces- 
santly lamented that he could get no tobacco, she found 
him rich with a twenty-franc piece, shining like a sun. 
One evening even, when she was visiting M^re Gabet, 
the latter begged her to get a bank note changed for her. 
And what a great grief it was to realize her powerless- 
ness, she who lacked money, when he so easily emptied 


127 


LE REVE. 

his purse! Certainly, she was glad of the windfall for 
her poor; but she had no further happiness in giving, 
sad at o;ivin>^ so little when another oave so much. The 

o o o 

awkwai'd fellow, not understanding, thinking to recon- 
quer her, yielded to a soft-hearted need of bounty be- 
stowing, redoubled his charity and nullified her alms. 
Witliout counting that she was compelled to hear his 
])raises at the houses of all the poverty-stricken : a 
young man so kind, so gentle, so polite! They talked 
only of him, they spread out his gifts as if to undervalue 
hers ! Despite her oath to forget him, she questioned 
them in regard to him: what had he left? — what had 
he said ? — and he was handsome, was he not? — and ten- 
der and timid! Perhaps he had dared to speak of her? 
Ah 1 of course, he spoke about her constantly 1 Then, 
she execrated him decidedly, for she had at last become 
thoroughly disgusted with it all. 

But matters could not continue in that way; and one 
May evening, during a glorious twilight, the catastrophe 
occurred. It was at the Lemballeuses’, the brood of 
beirgars who had found shelter in the ruins of the old 

mill. Onlv females were there, Mere Lernballeuse, an 
%/ ' 

old creature seamed with wrinkles, Tiennette, the eldest 
daughter, a tall savage of twentj^, and her two little sis- 
ters, Eose and Jeanne, their eyes already bold beneath 
their unkem})t red hair. All four begged on the roads, 
along the ditches, and returned at night, their feet sore 
with fatigue in their old shoes tied together with twine. 
An^l, that evening, Tiennette, having left the remains 
of hers among the stones, had returned wounded, her 
ankles bleeding. Seated before their door,*amid the tall 


128 


LE EEVE. 


grass of the Clos- Marie, she was prilling thorns from her 
flesh, while her mother and the two little ones were la- 
menting around her. 

At that moment Angelique arrived, hiding under her 
apron the loaf of bread which she gave them every week. 
She had escaped through the little door of the garden 
and had left it open behind her, for she intended to run 
back. But the sight of the whole family in tears stopped 
her. 

“ What is the trouble? What ails you ? ” 

“Ah! my good demoiselle,’’ groaned McTe Lembal- 
leuse, “ see in what a condition that great fool has gotten 
herself! To-morrow she’ll not be able to walk and it 
will be a day lost. One must have shoes.” 

'I’heir eyes flaming beneath their unkempt hair, Eose 
and Jeanne redoubled their sobs, crying, in sharp tones: 

“ One must have shoes, one must have shoes ! ” 
Tiennette had half- raised her thin, dark face. Then, 
flercelv, without a word, she had made herself bleed 
'again by picking away at a long splinter with a pin. 
Much affected, Angelique bestowed her alms. 

“ Here’s a loaf of bread at all events.” 

“Oh! bread,” resumed the mother, ‘ “ without doubt 
it’s necessary. But she cannot walk with bread, that’s 
certain. And it’s the fair at Bligny, a fair at which she 
makes every year more than forty sous. Bon Dieu de 
bon Dieu! what is going to become of us?” 

Pity and embarrassment made Angelique mute. She 
had only five sous in her pocket. With five sous one 
could hardly buy a pair of shoes, even for a makeshift. 
Every time her lack of money paralyzed her. And, at 


LE rSvE. 


129 


that miimte, what put the finishing touch to her rage 
was, as she turned her eyes, to perceive Felicien, stand- 
ing a few paces ofi‘ in the growing darkness. He must 
have heard, perhaps he had been there for some time. 
It was always thus that he appeared to her, without her 
ever knowing how or why he had come.' 

“He will give the shoes,’’ thought she. 

In fact, he was already advancing. In the violetish 
sky the first stars were born. A great warm peace fell 
from on high and put to sleep the Clos-Marie, the wil- 
lows of which were drowned in the obscurity. The 
cathedral was nothing but a black bar against the set- 
ting sun. 

“ Certainly, he will give the shoes.” 

And at this she felt genuine despair. He would give 
everything, then, not a single time would she vanquish 
liim! Her heart beat as if it would burst, she would 
have liked to have been veiy rich, in order to show him 
that she also made people happy. 

Hut tlie Lemballeuses had seen the kind gentleman, 
the mother had sprung forward, tlie two little sisters 
whimpered with outstretched hands, wrhile the tall girl, 
leaving her bleeding ankles, stared with her oblique 
eyes. 

“ Listen, my good woman,” said Felicien, “go into the 
Grand’Rue, at the corner of the Rue Basse ” 

Angelique had understood, the shop of a shoemaker 
was there. She interrupted him quickly, so agitated 
that she stammered out words at hazard. 

“That will be a useless trip! What is the good of 
it? There is a much easier way — — ” 

8 


130 


LE REVE. 


And she did not find that easier way. What could 
she do, what could she invent to get ahead of him in his 
alms-giving? She would never have believed that she 
could detest him so much. 

“You will say that I sent you/^ resumed Felicien. 
“ Y ou will ask 

Again she interrupted him, repeating with an anx- 
ious air : 

“ Inhere is a much easier way — there is a much easier 
wav 

Suddenly groving calm, she sat down on a stone, 
untied her. shoes, took them off, took oflf even her stock- 
ings, with a quick hand. 

“ See [ it’s so easy [ Why put one’s self out ? ” 

“Ah! my kind demoiselle, God will reward you!” 
cried Mere Lemballeuse, as she examined the shoes, 
which were almost new. “I will rip the uppers to 
make them fit. Tisnnette, thank her, you great fool ! ” 

Tiennette tore from the hands of Eose and Jeanne the 
stockings which they coveted. She did not open her lips. 

But, at that moment, Angelique perceived that her 
feet were hare and that Felicien saw them. She was 
covered with confusioii. She dare not stir, certain that, 
if she arose, he would see more of them. Then she grew 
alarmed, lost her head and started to flee. In the grass, 
as she ran, her little feet looked very white. The dark- 
ness had increased, the Clos-Marie had become a lake of 
gloom, between the neighboring tall trees and the black 
mass of the cathedral. And in it, on a level with the 
shadows of the ground, there was only the flight of the 
little vrhite feet, of the satiny white of doves. 


LE RfeVE.. 


131 


Terrified, afraid of the water, Angeliqne followed the 
Ciievrotte, in order to reach the plank wliicli served as a 
bridore. But Felicien had cut across the bushes. So 

o 

timid until then, he had grown redder than she on seeing 
her white feet; and a flame urged him on, he would 
have liked to cry out the passion which had possessed 
him wholly since the first day, in the overflow of his 
vouth. Then, when she grazed him, he could but stara- 
iner the confession with which his lips burned: 

“ I love you ! ” 

She had stopped in bewilderment. Drawing herself 
up, she looked at him for an instant. Her anger, the 
hatred that she had believed she had, vanished, melted 
into a feeling of delicious anguish. What had he said, 
that she should be upset by it in that way? She Icnew 
that he loved her and yet the words murmured in her 
ear confounded her with astonishment and terror. Em- 
boldened, his heart open and drawn nearer to hers by 
their accomplice, charity, he repeated: 

“ I love you! ” 

And she resumed her flight, in her fear of the lover. 

The Chevrotte no longer stopped her, she went into it 
like the pursued hinds, and her little white feet ran there 
among the pebbles, quivering in the cold water. The 
door of the garden closed again and they vanished. 


CIIAPTEE YI. 


MONSEIGNEUR S MITRE 


OR two days, Angelique was torn by remorse. As 


soon as she was alone, she sobbed, as if she had 
committed a fault. And the question, of a frightful 
obscurity, constantly recurred: had she sinned with that 
voung man? Was she lost, like those bad women of 
the Legend who yielded to the devil? The words, mur- 
mured so faintly : “ I love you! ” resounded with such a 
clamor in her ear that they certainly came from some 
tendble power, hidden in the depths of the invisible. 
But she did not know, she could not know, in the 
ignorance in which she had grown up. 

blad she sinned with that young man? And she 
strove to clearly recall the facts, she discussed the 
scruples of her innocence. What then was sin? Did it 
consist in seeing each other, in chatting and in lying 
afterwards to parents? That could not be all the evil. 
Then, why was she stifling thus? Why, if she were 
not guilty, did she feel herself becoming another than 
she had been, agitated by a new soul? Perhaps sin was 
springing up there, in that dull suffering with which she 
was growing weak. Her heart was full of vague, inde- 
terminate things, a whole confusion of words and acts to 
come, with which she terrified herself before understand- 
ing them. A flood of blood empurpled her cheeks, she 
heard burst forth the terrifying words: “I love you!” 



LE REIVE. 


133 


and she no longer argued, she resumed sobbing, doubt- 
ing the facts, fearing the fault beyond, in that which had 
no name and no form. 

Her great torment was that she had not confided in 
Hubertine. If she could have questioned her, the latter 
would, no doubt, have revealed the mystery to her in a 
word. Then, it seemed to her that merely to talk to 
some one of her misfortune would cure it. But the 
secret had become too weighty, she would have died of 
shame. She resorted to tricks and affected tranquil airs 
when a tempest was raging in the depths of her being. 
When she was questioned with regafd to her reveries, 
she raised her eyes in surprise, answering that she was 
thinking of nothing. Seated before her frame, her hands 
mechanically plying the needle, very staid looking, she 
was torn by a single thought from morning till night. 
To be loved, to be loved ! And she, in her turn, did she 
love ? That was another obscure question which 
her ignorance left unanswered. She repeated it 
to herself until she was stunned, the words lost their 
usual sense and everything ran into a sort of vertigo. 
With an effort she recovered herself, pulled herself 
together, needle in hand, and embroidered straight along, 
with her accustomed application, in a dream. Perhaps 
some terrible malady was lurking within her. One 
evening, on going to bed, she was taken with a chill and 
thought that she would not recover. Her heart beat as • 
if it would burst, her ears were filled as with the hum 
of a bell. Was she in love, or was she going to die? 
And she smiled peacefully at Hubei-tine, who, while 
waxing her thread, was uneasily examining her. 


184 


LE RfeVE. 


- But Ang^Hque liad taken an oath never again to see 
Felicien. She no longer ventured among the wild grass 
of the Clos-Marie and no longer even visited her poor. 
Slie was afraid lest something frightful might happen on 
the day when they should again meet face to face. In 
addition an idea of penance entered into her resolution, 
in order to punish herself for the sin she might have 
committed. Hence, on mornings of rigidity, she con- 
demned herself not to cast a single glance out of the 
window from fear of seeing the man she dreaded on the 
borders of the Chevrotte. And if, tempted, she looked 
and he was not Tliere, she was very sad because of it 
until the next day. 

One* morning, Hubert was arranging a dalmatic, 
when a ring at the door-bell summoned him down-stairs. 
It was probably a customer, some order without doubt, 
for Hubertine and Angelique heard the hum of voices 
through the stairway door, which had been left open. 
Then, they raised their heads, greatly surprised: foot- 
steps were ascending, the embroiderer was bringing up 
the customer, a thing that had never occurred before. 
And the young girl was astounded on recognizing 
Felicien. He was plainly clad, like an unengaged art 
workman. Since she no longer came to him, he had 
come to her, after days of vain waiting and anxious un- 
certainty, passed in sajdng to himself that she did not 
love him. 

“ See, my child, here is something that concerns you,” 
ex])lained Hubert. ‘‘Monsieur wishes to give us an 
order for an exceptional piece of work. And, ma foi, to 
talk about it tranquilly, I have preferred to receive him 


LE KEVE, 


135 


here. It is to niy daughter, monsieur, that you will 
have to show your design.” 

Neither lie nor Hubertine had the slightest suspicion. 
They approached simply with curiosity, to see. But 
Felicien was, like Angelique, choked with emotion. His 
hands trembled when he unrolled the design ; and he 
Avas forced to speak slowly, in order to hide the shaki- 
ness of his voice. 

It is a mitre for Monseigneur. Yes, some ladies 
living in the toAvn, who wish to make him a present, 
have charged me with designing the pieces and with 
superintending the execution. I am a painter on glass, 
but I occupy myself a great deal also with ancient art. 
You see that I have only reconstructed a Gothic mitre.” 

Angelique, bent over the huge slieet, which he had 
placed before her, uttered a faint exclamation. 

Oh I Saint Agnesi ” 

It was, indeed, the martyr of thirteen, the virgin clad 
in her hair, from whence emerged only her little feet and 
her little hands, such as she was upon her pillar at one 
of the doors of the cathedral, such especially as she was 
found in the interior, in the shape of an old Avooden 
statue, formerly painted, now of a light yellow, gilded 
all over by age. She occupied the entire face of the 
mitre, in a standing posture, borne towards the sky by 
two' angels; and, below her, a very distant and very faint 
landscape spread out. The back and the lappets Avere ^ 
enriched AAuth lanceolated ornaments of a handsome style. 

‘^Tlie ladies,” resumed Felicien, ‘‘will make the pres- 
ent for the procession of the Miracle, and I naturally 
thought it suitable to select Saint Agnes.” 


136 


LE KEVE, 


idea is excellent/’ interrupted Hubert, 

Hubert! lie said, in her turn : 

‘‘Monseigneur will be greatly touched.” 

The procession of the Miracle, which took place an- 
nually on the 28 th of July, dated from Jean V. of Hau- 
tecoeur, and was made in gratitude for the miraculous 
power of curing, which God had sent to him and his race 
to save Beaumont from the plague. The legend related 
that the Ilautecceurs owed this power to the intervention 
of Saint Agnes, to >vhoin they were strongly devoted ; 
and hence the ancient custom, on the date of the anni- 
versary, of taking out the old statue of the saint, which 
was drawn solemnly through the streets of the town in 
the pious belief that she continued to thrust all ills 
aside from it. 

“ For the procession of the Miracle,” at last murmured 
Angelique, her eyes upon the design, “ but it takes place 
in twenty daj^s. we shall not have sufficient time.”. 

The Huberts tossed their heads. In fact, such a work 
demanded infinite care. Ilubertine, however, turned to- 
wards the young girl. 

“I could aid you, I would charge myself with the 
ornaments and you would only have to make the 
figure.” 

Angelique in her trouble was still examining the 
saint. No, no ! — she refused, she defended herself 
against the kindness of accepting. It would be very 
bad to be an accomplice; for, surely, Felicien lied, she 
felt certain that he was not poor, that he was hiding 
hi in -’elf beneath that workman’s garb; and that assumed 
simplicity, all that tale in order to penetrate to her, put 


■ LE r£vE. 


137 


Ler on her guard, amused and happy at bottom, trans- 
figuring him, seeing the prince royal that lie must be, in 
the absolute certitude in which she lived of the entire 
realization of her dream. 

“ Xo,” repeated she, in a low tone, “ we would not 
have sufficient time.” 

And, without lifting her eyes, she continued, as if 
talking^ to herself: 

“For the saint one can use neither passe nor guipure. 
That would be unworthy. Embroidery in shaded gold 
is required.” 

“ I was just thinking of that style of embroidery,” said 
Felicien. “I knew that mademoiselle had rediscovered 
the secret of it. A very beautiful fragment of it is still 
to be seen in the sacristy.” 

Hubert grew excited. 

“Yes, yes, it is of the Fifteenth Century, it was 
embroidered by one of my great-grandmothers. In 
shaded gold, ah ! there never was more beautiful work, 
monsieur! But it demanded too much time, it cost too 
much and, besides, it exacted genuine artists. That 
work has not been made for two hundred years. And, 
if my daughter refuses, you may give it up, for she alone 
to-day is capable of undertaking it. I know of no other 
having the necessary finnesse of eye and hand.” 

Hubertine, since mention had been made of shaded 
gold, had grown deferential. She added, in a tone of 
conviction : 

“ It is, indeed, impossible to do the work in twenty 
days. The patience of a fairy is required.” 

But, through looking fixedly at the saint, Ang^lique 


133 


tE REVE, 


had just made a discovery which overwhelmed her 

heart with joy. Agnes resembled hemelf. In sketch^ 

iiig the antique statue, Felicien certainlj^ had had her in 

his mind; and this thought that she was thus always 

present, that he saw her ever}wvhere, softened her reso* 

lution to send him away. At last she raised her foi’e* 

«/ 

head and saw him trembling, his eves moistened with a 
su[)plication so ardent that she was vanquished. But 
through that mischief, that natural science which comes 
to girls, even when they are ignorant of everything, she 
did not wish to have the air of consenting. 

“It is impossible,” repeated she, handing back the 
design. “ I would not do it for any one.” 

F(3licien had a look of veritable desj)air. It was lie 
whom she refused, he thought- he understood that. As 
he turned to go, he said to ETubert : 

' “As to the money, all that you demanded would have 
been paid. The ladies would give as much as two thou» 
sand francs.” 

Certainly, the famil}^ were not mercenary. And yet 
that large sum excited them. How vexatious it was to 
let an order so advantageous slip through their fingers! 

“Two thousand francs,” resumed Angelique, in her 
soft voice, “ two thousand francs, monsieur.” 

And she, for whom money did not count, repressed a 
smile, a teasing smile, which scarcelj" junclied the cor- 
ners of her mouth, delighted at not appearing to yield to 
the pleasure of seeing him and at giving him a false 
opinion of her. 

“ Oh 1 two thousand francs, monsieur, in that case I 
ac'cept. I w^ould not do it for any ‘dne had it not been 


LE REVE. 


1S9 


decided to pay so much. If it is necessarj", I will work 
at night.” 

Hubert and Hubertine then wished to refuse, in tlieir 
turn, fearing lest she might fatigue herself too much. 

“No, no, one cannot send away the money that comes 
to one. Count on me. Your mitre will be ready the 
clay before the procession.” 

Felicien left the design and withdrew, filled with sor- 
row, without finding the courage to give new instructions 
in order to prolong his stay. She certainly did not love 
him, she had affected not to recognize him and to treat 
him like an ordinary customer, whose money only is 
wanted. At first, he was enraged and accused her of 
having a mean soul. So much the better! it was over, he 
Avould never think of her again.' Then, as he was still 
thinking over the matter, he finished by excusing her : 
did she not live by her work, ought she not to earn her 
bread? Two days later, he was very unhappy and 
resumed roving about, sick from not seeing her. She 
no longer came out, she did not even appear at the win- 
dows. And he had come to say to himself that, if she 
did not love him, if she loved only gain, he loved her 
more every day, as one loves the loved one at twenty 
years of age, without reason, at the hazard of the heart, 
for the joy and the pain of loving. One evening, he saw 
her and that was the end of it: now, it was she and not 
another; whatever she might be, bad or good, ugly or ' 
pretty, poor or rich, he would die if he did not win her. 
On the third day his suffering became such that, despite 
his oath to forget her, he returned to the dwelling of the 
Huberts. 


140 


LE r£vE, 

Down-stairs, when he had rung, he was again received 
by the embroiderer, who, in view of the obscurity of his 
explanations, decided to take him to the workroom once 
more. 

“ My daughter, monsieur desires to explain to you 
some things that I cannot very well understand.” 

“If it is not too much trouble to mademoiselle, I 
would like to see how matters are getting along. The 
ladies liave directed me to follow the work in person, 

that is, however, provided that I do not put out ” 

• Angelique, on seeing him appear, had felt her heart 
beat violently, even in her throat. It was choking her. 
But she quieted it with an effort ; the blood did not 
even mount to her cheeks; and it was very calmly, with 
an air of indifference, that she replied : 

“Oh! nothing puts me out, monsieur. I work quite 
as well before anybody. The design is yours, it is nat- 
ural that you should follow the execution.” 

Discountenanced, Felicien would not have dared to sit 
down, without the invitation of Hubertine, who smiled 
with her grave smile upon this excellent customer. Im- 
mediately she resumed work, bent over the frame, where 
she was embroidering in guipure the Gothic ornaments 
of the back of the mitre. On his side, Hubert took 
down from the wall a glued and finished banner, which 
had been drying there for two days and which he 
wished to take from the frame. Nothing further was 
said, the two women and the man worked as if no 
stranger had been present. 

And the young man calmed himself somewhat in the 
midst of that great peace. Three o’clock struck^ the 


LE REVE. 


.141 


shadow' of the cathedral had already lengthened and a 
dim half-light was entering through the wide-open win- 
dow. It was the twilight time, which commenced at 
noon for the little house, cool and green at the foot of 
the colossus. A slight clatter of shoes was heard upon 
the marble slabs, made by a lot of boarding-school girls 
wdio \vere being taken to confession. In the workroom, 
the old implements, the old walls, everything that 
remained there unchangeable, seemed to be sleeping the 
sleep of centuries ; and from them also came a great 
deal of coolness and calmness. A huge square of white 
light, equal and pure, fell upon the frame over which 
bent the embroiderers, with their delicate profiles, in the 
yellow reflection of the gold. 

“ Mademoiselle, I wished to say to you,” commenced 
Felicien, in embarrassment, feeling that he ought to 
assign some motive for his coming, “ I wished to say to 
you that, for the hair, gold seemed to me preferable to 
silk.” 

She had raised her head. The laughter in her eyes 
signified clearlv that he need not have taken the trouble 
to come if he had no other recommendation to make. 
And she bent over again, answering in a slightly mock- 
ing voice : 

“ Without doubt, monsieur! ” 

He felt very silly, he noticed then only that she was 
at that moment working on the hair. Before her was 
the design which he had made, but washed in water 
colors, set off with gold, of the softness of tone of an 
ancient miniature, faded in a book of hours. And she 
was copying that picture with the patience and address 


142 


LE REVE. 


of an artist painting with the magnifying-glass. After 
having reproduced it somewhat rouglily upon white 
satin, firmlv stretched and lined with thick clotli, she 
had covered the satin with threads of gold directed from 
bottom to top, fastened simply at the two ends, free and 
touching each other. Then, employing those threads 
as a woof, she separated them with the point of her 
needle to rejoin beneath the design, she followed that 
design, sewed the threads of gold with cross-stitclies of 
silk, which she assorted in accordance witli the shading 
of the model. In the dark portions the silk completely 
hid the gold; in the half-tints the stitches of silk were 
spaced more and more ; and the lights were made of 
gold alone, left uncovered. It was the shaded gold, the 
background of gold which the needle shaded with silk, 
a picture of melted colors, as if warmed underneath by 
a glory, of a mystic brightness. 

“Ah!” suddenly said Hubert, who had commenced to 
slacken the banner by winding upon his fingers the 
twine of the frame, “the masterwork of an embroiderer 
formerly was shaded gold. She ought to make, as it is 
written in the statutes, ‘a single image which is of 
shaded gold, of a half-third in height.’ You would have 
been received, Angelique.” 

And again there was silence. For the hair, departing 
from the rule, Angelique had conceived the same idea as 
Folicien: that of not employing silk, of covering gold 
with gold ; and she was manoeuvring ten needlesful of 
gold thread of different tones, from the dark red gold of 
expiring braziers to the pale yellow gold of the autumn 
forests. Agnes, from neck to ankles, was thus clad with 


LE EEVE. 


143 


a sfream of golden locks. The flood started from the 
Hcipe of the neck, covered the back with a thick mantle, 
overiiowed in front, above the shoulders, in two waves, 
which, rejoining beneath the chin, flowed down to the 
feet. It was a miracalous growth of hair, a fabidous 
fleece with enormous curls, a warm and living robe, per- 
fumed with purity. 

That day, Felicien could only look at Angelique em*. 
broideri ng the curls with cleft stitches in the direction, 
of their roll ; and he did not tire of seeing the locks 
gi*ow and flame beneath her needle. Their depth and 
the great quiver which unrolled them at a stroke dis- 
turbed him. Hubertine, who was sewing on spangles, 
concealing the thread of each one with a little twist, 
turned from time to time and enveloped him with her calm 
gaze when she threw an imperfect spangle into the 
waste-basket. Hubert, who had withdrawn the laths to 
rip the banner from the cylinders, had finished carefully 
folding it. And Felicien, whose embarrassment was 
augmented by the silence, at last comprehended that he 
ought to have the wisdom to depart, since he could not 
recall any of the observations which he had promised 
himself to make. 

He arose and stammered : 

“I will return. I have so badly reproduced the. 
charming design of the head that you will, perhaps, 
stand in need of some explanations from me.’^ 

Angelique tranquilly turned her large bright eyes on 
his, 

‘‘No, no. But return, monsieur, return, if you are 
uneasy about the execution.’^ 


144 


LE RfeVE. 


He went away, delighted with the permission hut 
grieved by that coldness. She did not love him, she 
would never love him, that was settled. AVhat was the 
good of returning then? And the next day and tlie 
succeeding days, he returned to the cool house on tbe 
Kue des Orf^vres. The hours which he did not spend 
there were abominable, ravaged by his internal struggle, 
tortured by uncertainty. He succeeded in calming him- 
self only when near the embroiderer, even resigned to 
not pleasing her, consoled for everything provided that 
she was present. Every morning he arrived, spoke of the 
work and seated himself before the frame as if his pres- 
ence had been necessary; and it enchanted him to find 
again her motionless profile, bathed with the blonde 
brightness of her hair, and to follow the agile play of 
her supple little hands, disentangling themselves amid 
the long needlesful. She was very simple and she now 
treated him as a comrade. Nevertheless, he felt always 
between them things which she did not say and which 
filled his heart with anguish. She sometimes raised her 
head, with an air of mockery, her eyes impatient and 
interrogative. Then, seeing that he grew frightened, she 
again became very cold. 

But Felicien had discovered a means of exciting her 
and he abused it. It was to speak to her of her art, of 
the ancient masterpieces of embroidery which he had 
seen, preserved in the treasure-chambers of cathedrals, or 
engraved in books, superb copes, the cope of Charle- 
magne, in red silk, with huge eagles with wings out- 
spread, the cope of Sion, decorated with a whole people 
of holy figures; a dalmatic which passes for the most 


LE REVE. 


145 


beautiful piece known, tke imperial dalmatic, on wliicli 
is celebrated tlie glory of Jesus Christ on earth and in 
Heaven, the Transfiguration, the Last Judgment, the 
numerous personages of which are embroidered in 
shaded silks, gold and silver; a Tree of Jesse also, an 
orfroi of silk upon satin, which seems detached from a 
stained glass window of the Fifteenth Century, Abraham 
below, David, Solomon and the Virgin Mary, then 
Jesus above ; and admirable chasubles, the chasuble of 
such great simplicity, Christ on the cross, bleeding, 
splashed with red silk upon cloth of gold, having at his 
feet the_ Virgin sustained by Saint John, the chasuble of 
Naintre finally, on which one sees Mary, seated in 
majesty, with sandals on her feet, holding the naked 
Infant upon her knees. Others, other marvels filed away, 
venerable from their great age, of a faith, of a simplic- 
ity in magnificence, lost in our day, preserving from the 
tabernacles the odor of incense and the mystic gleam of 
faded gold. 

“ Ah! ” sighed Angdlique, “those beautiful things are 
done with. One cannot even find the tones again.” 

And, with sparkling eyes, she stopped working when 
he related to her the histories of the great male and 
female embroiderers of the past,Simonne de Gaules, Colin 
Jolye, whose names have traversed the ages. Then, ply- 
ing her needle anew, she remained transfigured by them 
and kept upon her face the radiance of her passion as an 
artist. Never had she seemed to him more beautiful, so 
enthusiastic, so virginal, burning with a pure flame amid 
the brilliancy of the gold and the silk, with her profound 
application, her work of precision, the little stitches into 
9 


146 


LE REVE. 


'wliicli slie threw her whole soul. He ceased to“ speak 
and contemplated her until, aroused by the silence, she 
noticed the excitement into which he had thrown her. 
She was confused by this as by a defeat, but she recov- 
ered her indifferent calmness and cried out, in an angry 
voice : 

There! my silks are tangled again 1 Mother, don’t 
stir I ” 

Ilubertine, who had not moved, smiled tranquilly. 
She had at first been uneasy about the .young man s 
assiduities, she had talked over the matter one evening 
with Hubert as they were going to bed. But the youth did 
not displease them, they remained very agreeable : why 
should they oppose interviews which might bring about 
Angelique’s happiness ? She, therefore, let matters take 
their own course, while she kept a watch with her sage 
air. Besides, for several weeks, she herself had had a sad 
heart because of the vain tendernesses of her husband. It 
was the month in which they had lost their infant j and 
every year, at that date, brought back to them the same 
regrets, the same desires, he trembling to his feet, burn- 
ing to believe himself pardoned at last, she loving and 
grieved, giving herself wholly, despairing of bending fate. 
They did not speak of this, they did not exchange a kiss 
more on account of it, before people ; but this redoubling 
of love emerged from the silence of their chamber, came 
from their persons at the slightest gesture, by the way in 
which their glances met and forgot themselves for a sec- 
ond one within the other. And this was like a grave 
accompaniment. 

A week passed and the work on the mitre was advan- 


LE EEVE. 


U7 


cing. These daily interviews had acquired a great famil- 
iar sweetness. 

“ The forehead very high, eh, without trace of eye- 
brows? ” 

“ Yes, very high, and not a shadow, as in the minia^ 
tures of the time.” 

“ Pass me the white silk.” 

“Wait, I will unwind it.” 

Ue aided her, and this working together had a calm- 
ing effect. It brought them within the sphere of every- 
day reality. Though not a word of love was uttered, 
though not even a voluntary grazing brought their fin- 
gers in contact, the bond was tightening hourly. 

“Father, what are you doing? We no longer hear 
you.” 

She turned and saw the embroiderer, his hands occu- 
pied with charging a rod, his eyes fixed upon his wife. 

“ I am giving gold to your mother.” 

And, from the bringing of the rod, from Ilubertine’s 
mute expression of thankfulness, from Hubert’s con- 
tinual officiousness around her, the warm breath of a 

ft 

caress disengaged itself and enveloped Angelique and 
Felicien, bent anew over the frame. The workroom 
itself, the antique apartment with its old implements, its 
peace of another age, Avas an accomplice. It seemed so 
far from the street, drawn back into the depths of a 
dream, in that land of good souls where prodigy reigns, 
the easy realization of every joy. 

In five days the mitre was to bo delivered ; and Angd- 
lique, certain of having it finished, of even being twenty- 
four hours ahead of time, breathed, astonished to find 


148 


LE REVE. 


Felicien so near her, his elbows leaned on the trestle. 
So they were comrades, eh ? She no longer defended 
herself against what she felt to be conquering in him, 
she no longer smiled mischievously at all he hid and 
she guessed. What had put her to sleep in her uneasy 
waiting? And the eternal question returned, the ques- 
tion she put to herself every evening on retiring : did she 
love him ? For hours, in the depths of her huge bed, 
she had turned over the words, seeking for meanings 
Avhicli had escaped her. Suddenly, that night, she felt 
her heart give way and burst into tears, her face buried 
in the pillow so that she might not be heard. She loved 
him, she loved him to the point of dying of it. Why ? 
— how ? She did not know, she never would know any- 
thing about it; but she loved him, her whole being 
cried out that she loved him. Light had come, love 
had shone forth like the light of the sun. She wept for 
a long while, full of unutterable confusion and happi- 
ness, again seized with regret that she had not confided 
in Hubertine. Her secret was stifling her and she took 
a solemn oath that she would again become ice for 
Felicien and that she would suffer everything rather 
than let him see her tenderness. To love him, to love 
him in silence, that was the punishment, the trial which 
should redeem her fault. She suffered deliciously 
because of this, she thought of the martyrs of the 
Legend, it seemed to her that she had become in some 
degree their sister by flagellating herself thus and tliat 
her guardian, Agnes, was gazing at her with her sad and 
gentle eyes. 

The next day Ang^lique finished the mitre. She had 


149 


LE K§VE. 

embroidered witli split silk, lighter in weight tli an the 
threads of the Virgin, the little hands and the little feet, 
the only corners of white flesh which emerged from 
the royal hair of gold. She finished the face with the 
delicacy of a lily, in y/hicli the gold appeared like the 
blood of the veins beneath the epidermis of silks. And 
that face of sunlight was mounting to the horizon from 
the blue plain, borne away by the two angels. 

When Felicien entered, he uttered a cry of admira- 
tion. 

“Oh! she resembles you! ” 

It was an involuntary confession, the admission of that 
resemblance which he had put into the design. He real- 
ized that he had betrayed himself and grew very red. 

“ It’s true, little daughter, she has your pretty eyes,” 
said Hubert, who had approached. 

Hubertine contented herself with smiling, having long 
since noticed the fact; and she appeared surprised, sad- 
dened even, when she heard Angelique reply, in her 
old voice of the evil days : 

“ My pretty eyes ! Are you mocking me? I am ugly 
— I know myself well ! ” 

Then, rising and shaking herself, overdoing her role 
of a mercenary and cold girl : 

■ “Ah! so it’s done! I have had enough of it. A 
mighty weight is off my shoulders ! Do you know that 
I would not undertake it again for the same price? ” 

Felicien was thunderstruck as he listened to her. 
What! money again?’ He had thought her for a 
moment so tender, so fond of her art! Had he then de- 
ceived himself that he again found her sensible only to 


LE REVE. 


150 

the idea of profit, indiflferentto the point of rejoicing that 
she had finished her work and would see it no more ? 
For some days he had been in despair and had sought 
vainly under what pretext he could return. And she 
did not love him, and she would never love him I Such 
suffering had wrung his heart so much that his eyes 
grew pale. 

“Mademoiselle, are you not going to mount the 
mitre ? ” 

“ No, mother will do that much better. I am too well 
satisfied at not having to touch it any more ! ” 

“Then, you do not love your work? ” 

“I ! I love nothing ! ” 

Hubert! ne was compelled to check her sternly. And 
she begged Felicien to excuse that nervous child, she told 
him that early on the morrow the mitre would be at his 
disposal. It was a dismissal, but he did not go, he looked 
at the old workroom, full of shade and peace, as if he 
were about being driven from paradise. He had experi- 
enced there the illusion of such delicious hours, he felt 
so sadly that his heart remained there, torn out ! What 
tortured him was his inability to explain himself, the 
frightful uncertainty he would bear away with him. 
At last, he was forced to depart. 

Scarcely had the door closed behind him when Hubert 
demanded : 

“ What is the matter with you, my child ? Are you 
ill ? ” 

“ Oh ! no, that young man wearied me ! I don’t want 
to see him again ! ” 

And Hubertine said then: 


LE KfiVE. 


151 


“ Very good, you will not see him again. Only, noth- 
ing prevents being polite.” 

Angelique, under a pretext, had but time to ascend to 
her chamber. -There, she burst into tears. Ah ! how 
happy she was and how she suffered ! Her poor dear 
love, how sad he must have been when he went awav! 
But it was sworn to the saints, she would love him to 
the point of dying and never would he know itl 


152 


LE r£vE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN angelique’s chamber. 

The evening of the same day, immediately on quit- 
ting table, Angelique complained of feeling quite ill and 
went up again to her chamber. Her emotions of the 
morning and her struggles against herself had been too 
much for her. She went to bed at once and again 
burst into tears, her head plunged beneath the sheet, 
with the desperate need of disappearing and being no more. 

The hours passed and night came on, a glowing July 
night, the heavy calm of which entered through the 
window, left wide open. In the dark sky shone a 
swarm of stars. It must have been nearly eleven o’clock ; 
the moon would not rise until towards midnight; it was 
in its last quarter and had already diminished. 

And, in the sombre chamber, Angelique was still 
shedding an inexhaustible flood of tears, when a creak- 
ing sound at her door caused her to raise her head. 

There was silence, then, a voice ‘called to her, ten- 
derly : 

“ Angdlique — A ngelique — my dear.” 

She recognized the voice as Hubertine’s. Without 
doubt, the latter, on retiring with her husband, had 
heard the distant sound of sobs ; and, uneasy, half-un- 
dressed, she had come up-stairs to see what was the 
matter. 

“Angelique, are you ill ? ” 


153 


LE k£vE. 

Holding her breath, the young girl did not answer. 
She felt only an immense desire for solitude, the sole 
relief for her malady. A consolation, a caress, even 
from her motlier, would have hurt her. She pictured 
her on tbe other side of the door, and divined that she 
was barefooted from the softness of the pattering on the 
floor. Two minutes went by, and she felt that she 
was yet there, bent down, witli her ear against the 
wood, holding her loosened garments over her with her 
handsome arms. 

Ilubertine, no longer hearing anything, not even a 
breath, was afraid to call again. She was very certain 
tliat she had heard groans; but, if the child had finally 
fallen asleep, what was the good of awaking her? She 
waited a minute longer, troubled by that grief which 
her daughter was hiding from her, guessing confusedly, 
filled herself with a great tender emotion. And she 
decided to go down-stairs again as she had come up, 
her hands familiar with the slightest turns, without 
leaving any other sound behind her, in the dark house, 
than the soft patter of her bare feet. 

Then, it was Angelique who listened, sitting up in the 
middle of her bed. The silence was so absolute that she 
distinguished the soft pressure of the heels on the edge 
of every step. Below, the door of the chamber opened, 
closed again ; then, she seized a barely distinct murmur, 
an affectionate and sad whispering, what her parents . 
were saying about her, doubtless, their fears, their 
wishes ; and this did hot cease, although they must have 
gone to bed, after having put out the light. Never had 
the nocturnal sounds of the old house come up to her in 


154 


LE RfiVE. 


this waj. Usually, she slept the heavy sleep of youth 
and did not even hear the furniture crack ; while, in 
the insomnia of her resisted passion, it seemed to her 
that the entire mansion loved and was lamenting. Were 
not the Huberts also stifling tears, a world of dismayed 
and grieved tenderness at being childless ? She did not 
know, she merely had the sensation, in the warm night, 
below her, of that vigil of the man and wife, a great love, 
a great trouble, the long and chaste confidence of 
aflection ever fresh. 

And while she was seated, listening to the quivering 
and sighing house, Angelique could not contain herself, 
her tears were still flowing ; but, at present, they gushed 
mutely, warm and rapid, like the blood of her veins. 
A single question, since morning, had been turning 
within her, had wounded her in all her being: had she 
been right in filling Felicien with despair, in sending 
him oft* thus, with the thought that she did not love 
him plunged in his heart like a knife? She loved him, 
and she had caused him that suft’ering, and she herself 
was suft'ering frightfully because of it. Why so much 
pain? — did the saints demand tears? — would it have 
angered Agnes to know that she was happy ? A doubt 
was now rending her. In the past, when she was 
awaiting the one who should come, she had arranged 
matters better : he would enter, she would recognize 
him, and they would go away forever together. And 
he had come, and they were both sobbing, forever sepa- 
rated. What was the good? — what had produced it? — 
who had exacted from her that oath to love him with- 
out telling him ? 


155 


LE r£vE. 

Bat, above all, the fear of being tlie guilty one, of 
having been wicked, grieved Angelique. Perhaps the 
bad girl had again sprung up. Astonished, she recalled 
her affectation of indifference, the mocking waj^ in 
which she had received F^^licien, the mischievous pleas- 
ure she had taken in giving him a false idea of herself. 
Her tears redoubled and her heart melted with an 
immense, iiiBnite pity for the suffering she had thus 
caused, without wishing it. She constantly saw him 
going away, she had present with her the consternation 
of his visage, his troubled eyes, his trembling lips ; and 
she followed him in the streets, to his home, pale, mor- 
tally wounded by her, losing his blood drop by drop. 
Where was he at that hour? — was he not quivering 
with fever? She wrung her hands in anguish at the 
idea of not knowing how to repair the evil. Ah ! the 
thought of causing suffering revolted her ! She would 
have liked to be good immediately, to create happiness 
about her. 

It would soon be midnight, the tall elms of the bish- 
op’s house were hiding the moon at the horizon, and the 
chamber remained dark. Then, her head having fallen 
back upon the pillow, Angelique no longer thought, 
strove to go to sleep ; but she could not, her tears con- 
tinued to flow from her closed eyelids. And thought 
returned, she remembered the violets which, for fifteen 
days past, she had found on going up to bed, upon the ' 
balcony, in front of her window. Every evening, it was 
a bouquet of violets. Felicien certainly had thrown it 
from the Clos-Marie, for she recollected having told 
him that violets alone, by a singular virtue, calmed her, 


156 


LE REVE. 


when the perfume of other flowers, on the contrary, tor- 
mented her with terrible headaches ; and he had thus 
sent her sweet nights, a world of balmly sleep, refreshed 
by good dreams. That evening, she had placed the 
bouquet on her bolster. Suddenly, the happy idea of 
getting it came to her, she laid it beside her, beside her 
cheek, and gradually calmed herself by smelling it. 
The violets finally stopped her tears. She still did not 
go to sleep, she remained with her eyes closed, bathed 
by that peii’fume which came from him, delighted to 
repose and wait, in a confident abandon of all her being. 

But a great shiver passed through her. * Midnight 
struck, she opened her eyelids and was amazed to find 
her chamber filled with a brilliant light. Above the 
elms, the moon was slowly ascending, extinguishing the 
stars in the paled sky. Through the window she per- 
ceived the arch of the cathedral, very white. And it 
seemed that this was the reflection of that whiteness 
which brightened her chamber, a light of dawn, milky 
and cool. The white walls, the white joists, all that 
white nudity, in fact, was increased by it, extended and 
drawn back as in a dream. She, however, recognized 
the old furniture of sombre oak, the cupboard, the chest, 
the chairs, with the gleaming angles of their carving. 
Her bed alone, her square bed, of a royal amplitude, 
astonished her, as if she had never seen it before, send- 
ing up its posts, bearing its canopy of 'old pink chintz, 
bathed with such a thick sheet of moonlight that she 
believed herself upon a cloud, in the open sky, uplifted 
by a flock of mute and invisible wings. For an instant 
she felt the vast swaying of it ; then, her eyes grew ac- 


157 


LE REVE. 

% 

ciistomed to the scene, her bed was in the usual corner, 
she lay with motionless head, her glances wandering, 
amid that lake of rays, the bouquet of violets pressed to 
her lips. 

What was she waiting for — why could she not sleep ? 
She was certain now that she was waiting for some one. 
If she had ceased to weep, it was because he was coming. 
That consoling brightness, which had put to flight the 
gloom of evil dreams, announced him. He was coming,- 
the messenger moonlight had entered before him but to 
illuminate them with that whiteness of dawn. The 
chamber was hung with white velvet, they would be able 
to see each other. Then, she arose and dressed herself : 
simply put on a white dress, the muslin dress she had 
worn on the day of the walk to the ruins of Hautecoeur. 
She did not even bind up her hair which clad her 
shoulders. Her feet remained bare in her slippers. And 
she waited. 

At present, Angdlique did not know how he would 
arrive. Without doubt, he would not be able to climb 
up and they would see each other, she leaning upon the 
balconv rail, he below in the Clos-Marie. Neverthe- 
less, she had seated herself, as if she had comprehended 
the inutility of going to the window. Why should he 
not pass through the walls, like the saints of the Legend ? 
She waited. But she was not alone in her waiting, she 
felt that the virgins, whose white host had enveloped 
her since her childhood, were all about her. They had 
entered with the ray of moonlight, they had come from 
the tall, mysterious trees of the bishop’s house, with blue 
tops, from hidden nooks of the cathedral, entangled in 


158 


LE REVE. 


its forest of stones. From all the known and beloved 
horizon, from the Chevrotte, from the willows, from the 
grass, the young girl heard her dreams coming back to 
her, the hopes, the desires, that portion of herself which 
she had put in things from seeing them daily and which 
things were returning to her. Never had the voices of 
the invisible spoken so loudly, she, heard the beyond, she 
recognized, in the depths of the burning night, without 
a breath of air, the slight flutter which was for her the 
rustling of the robe of Agnes, when the guardian of her 
body was beside her. She was delighted to know that 
Agnes was there, with the others. And she waited. 

More time passed, but Angelique was not sensible of 
it. It appeared natural to her when Felicien arrived, 
climbing over the balustrade of the balcony. His tall 
stature stood out against the white sky. He did not 
enter, he remained in the luminous frame of the window. 
Have no fear ! It is I — I have come ! ” 

She had no fear, she simply thought him punctual. 

You climbed up the woodwork, did you not? ” 

Yes, up the woodwork.” 

This method was so easy that it made her laugh. He 
had first hoisted himself upon the projecting roof of the 
door ; then, from there, climbing along the corbel, the 
foot of which was supported by the cornice of the ground- 
floor, he had reached the balcony without difiiculty. 

I was waiting for you, come to me! ” 

Felicien, who had arrived, violent, full of wild resolu- 
tions, did not stir, stunned by this sudden felicity. And 
Angelique now was certain that the saints did not forbid 
her to love, for she had heard them welcome him with 


LE RfiVE. • 


159 


her with a laugh of affection as light as a breath of the 
night. Where had she acquired the foolish thought 
that Agnes would be angered ? At her side, Agnes was 
radiant with a joy which she felt descend upon her 
shoulders and envelop her, like the caress of two 
great wings. All those who had died of love showed 
themselves compassionate for the pains of innocence and 
returned to wander about on warm nights only to watch, 
invisible, over their tearful tenderness. 

4 

“Come to me, I was waiting for you!” 

Then, staggering, Felicien entered. lie had said to 
himself that he wanted her, that he would hug her to 
suffocation in his arms, despite her cries. But on seeing 
her so gentle, on penetrating into her chamber all white 
and so pure, he had again become purer and weaker 
than a child. 

lie took three steps. But he quivered and fell upon 
both knees, far away from her. 

“If you only knew what abominable torture I have 
undergone 1 I have never before suffered thus, the only 
grief in the world is not to believe one’s self beloved 1 
I would lose everything, be an outcast, dying of hunger, 
tossed by sickness. But I would not pass another day 
with the devouring misery in my heart of saying 
to myself that you do not love me! Be kind and 
spare me 1 ” 

She listened to him mutely, overwhelmed with pity, 
but, nevertheless, very happy. 

“IIow you let me go away this morning! I had 
imagined that you had grown better, that you had 
understood. And I found you again the same as on the 


ICO 


LE TtSVE. 

lirst day, indifferent, treating me like a mere passing 
customer, roughly recalling me to the low questions of 
life. On the stairway, I stumbled. Without, I ran, I 
was afraid of bursting into tears. Then, at the moment 
of ascending to my room, it seemed to me that I would 
stifle if I shut myself up. Then, I escaped into the 
open country, I walked as chance directed, took one 
road, took another. When night came on, I was still 
walking. But my torment galloped as rapidly and was 
devouring me. When one loves, one cannot flee the 
pain of his love. See, it was there, in my heart, that 
you had planted the knife, and the point was constantly 
sinking deeper.” 

He gave a long groan at the keen remembrance of his 
torture. 

“ I remained for hours in the grass, prostrated by my 
misfortune, like a tree torn up by the roots. And, 
besides, nothing existed, there was only you. The 
thought that I would not have you was killing me. 
Already, my feet were growing numb, madness was 
taking possession of my brain. And that is why I 
returned. I know not through what I passed, how I 
was able to reach your chamber. Forgive me, but I 
would have broken in the doors with my fists, I would 
have hoisted myself to your window in broad day.” 

She was in the shadow. He, upon his knees beneath 
the moonlight, did not see that she was very pale with 
repentant tenderness, so moved that she could not speak. 
He thought her untouched, he clasped his hands. 

‘‘This dates from a long while back. It was one 
evening that I saw you here, at that window. You 


LE r£vE. 


161 


were only a vague wliiteiiess, I could scarcely distinguish 
your visage, and yet I saw you, I divined you such as 
you are. But I was very much afraid, I roved about 
for nights without finding the courage to meet you in 
broad day. And, besides, you pleased me in that mys- 
tery, my happiness was to dream of you as of an 
unknown whom I would never know. Later, I discov- 
ered whom you were, one cannot resist that need of 
knowing, of possessing his dream. It was then that my 
fever began. It has ^rown with each meeting. You 
remember the first time, in that field, the morning when 
I was examining the stained glass window. Never had 
I felt myself so awkward, you had abundant reason to 
laugh at me. And I frightened you afterwards. I con- 
tinued to be maladroit in following you to the houses 
of your poor. Already I had ceased to be the master 
of my will. I did things, astonished and afraid to do 
them. When I presented myself to order that mitre, it 
was some power which pushed me, for of myself I did 
not dare, I was certain of displeasing you. If you 
could only comprehend how wretched I am ! Do not 
love me, but let me love you. Be cold, be wicked, I 
Avill love you as you may be. I ask of you only to see 
you, without any hope, solely for the joy of being thus, 
at your knees ! 

He stopped, weakening, losing courage in the belief 
that he had found nothing to touch her. And he did 
not see that she was smiling, with an invincible smile, 
gradually growing upon her lips. Ah ! the dear fellow, 
he was so innocent and so credulous, he had recited 
there his prayer from a heart wholly fresh and passion- 
10 


162 


LE r£VE. 

ate, in adoration before her, as before the very dream of 
liis youth ! To think that she had struggled at first never 
to see him again, then that she had sworn to love him 
without ever letting him know it ! A great silence had 
fallen, the saints did not forbid to love when one loved 
thus. Behind her back, a burst of gayety had run. 
scarcely a quiver, the moving wave of the moonlight 
upon the floor 'of the chamber. An invisible finger, 
without doubt that of her guardian, had placed itself upon 
her mouth as if to release her from her oath. She could 
speak henceforth, all that was powerful and tender float- 
ing about her breathed words to her. 

“Ah ! yes, I remember, I remember.” 

Felicien was immediately captivated by the music 
of that voice, the charm of which was so strong upon 
him that his love was augmented merely by hearing it. 

“Yes, I remember, when you came in the night. 
You were so far away, the first evenings, that the slight 
sound of your footsteps left me uncertain. Afterwards, 
I recognized you, and later I saw your shadow, and one 
evening finally you showed yourself, a beautiful night like 
this, in the full white light. You emerged slowly from 
things, such as I had expected you for years. I remem- 
ber the great laughter that I was stifling and that burst 
forth in spite of me when you rescued that piece of linen 
that had been borne away by the Chevrotte. I remem- 
ber my anger when you robbed me of my poor by giving 
them so much money that I had the air of being miserly. 
I remember my fear the evening when you forced me to 
run so rapidly, barefooted in the grass. Yes, I remem- 
ber, I remember.” 


LE r£vE. 


163 


Her voice of pure crystal had been troubled a little, 
in tbe quiver of this last recollection she had evoked, as 
if the “ I love you ! ” had again passed over her face. 
And he listened to her with delight. 

“ I have been wicked, that’s very true. One is so fool- 
ish when one does not know ! One does things which 
one believes necessary, one is afraid of being in fault as 
soon as one obeys one’s heart. But what remorse I had 
afterwards, how I suffered from your suffering! If I 
wished to explain that, I could not, without doubt. 
When you came with your design of Saint Agnes, I was 
enchanted to work for you, I suspected that you would 
return every day. And, see, I affected indifference, as if 
1 had undertaken the task of driving you from the house. 
One has then the need of rendering one’s self unhap})}^^ ? 
While I would have liked to receive you with open 
hands, there was, in the depths of my being, another 
woman who revolted, who was afraid and distrustful 
of you, who delighted to torture you with uncertainty, 
in the vague idea of a quarrel to exhaust, the very old 
cause of which she had forgotten. I am not always 
good, things spring up in me of which I am ignorant. 
And the worst certainly is that I spoke to you of money. 
Ah ! money, I who have never thought of it, who would 
accept wagon loads of it only for the joy of showering 
it down where I wished ! What mischievous amuse- 
ment could I have taken in thus calumniating myself? ' 
Will you forgive me? ” 

Felicien was at her feet. He had draccofed himself to 

( j I ^ 

her on his knees. It was unhoped for and without 
bounds. 


164 


LE kSvE. 


lie murmered : 

“Ah ! dear soul, inestimable, and beautiful, and kind, 
of the kindness of prodigy which has cured me with a 
breath ! I know no longer if I have suffered. And it 
is for you to forgive me, for I have a confession to make 
to you, I must tell you who I am.” 

A great trouble had again taken possession of him at 
the idea that he could not conceal himself further, when 
she had confided so frankly in him. That would be 
disloyal. He hesitated, nevertheless, in the fear of 
losing her, if she should grow uneasy about the future 
on -knowing him at last. And she waited for him to 
speak, again mischievous, in spite of herself. 

In a very low voice, he continued: 

“1 lied to youf parents.” 

“Yes, I know,” said she, smiling. 

“ No, you do not know, you cannot know, it is too 
far away. I paint on glass only for my pleasure, it is 

necessary that you should learn ” 

Then, with a prompt movement, she put her hand 
over his mouth, she stopped the confidance. 

“ I don’t wish to know. I awaited }^ou and you have 
come. That is enough.” 

He did not speak, that little hand over his lips- stifled 
him with happiness. 

“I will know later, when it shall be time. Besides, 
I assure you that I know. You can be only the hand- 
somest, the richest and the noblest, for such is my dream. 
I shall wait very tranquilly, for I am certain that it will 
be accomplished. You are he whom I hoped for, and I 
am yours ! ” 


LE REVE. 


1G5 


A second time ^lie interrupted herself, in the quiver- 
ins; of tlie words which she uttered. She had not found 
them herself alone, they had come to her from the beau- 
tiful night, from the great .white sky, from the old trees 
and the old stones, asleep without, dreaming aloud their 
dreams; and voices behind her had murmured them 

a 

also, the voices of her friends of the Legend, with whom 
the air was peoplech But a word remained to be said, 
the one in which everything else Vas to melt, the dis- 
tant waiting, the slow creation of the lover, the aug- 
mented fever of the first meetings. It escaped, with the 
white flight of an early bird mounting to the light, in 
the virgin whiteness of the chamber. 

I love you ! ” 

Angelique, with botli hands open, slipped upon her 
knees, gave herself and Felicien recalled the evening when 
she had run barefooted in the grass, so adorable that he 
had pursued her to stammer in her ear : “.I love you ! ” 

And she well understood that she had only replied to 
' him at that moment with the same cry : “ I love you 1 
The eternal cry come at last from her wide open heart. 

“I love you I Take me, bear me away, I belong 
to you ! ” 

She gave herself, in a gift of all her person. It was 
a hereditary flame rekindled within her. Her groping 
hands grasped emptiness, her too heavy head bent back 
upon the delicate nape of her neck. If he had 
extended his arms, she would have fallen into them, 
ignoring everything, yielding to the pressure of her 
veins, having only the need of melting into him. And 
it was he, come to take her, who trembled before that 


166 


LE BEVE. 


innocence so passionate. lie held her gently by the 
wrists, he recrossed her chaste hands upon her bosom. 
For an instant, he looked at her, without even yielding 
to the temptation of kissing her hair. 

^‘You love me and 1 love you! Ah! the certainty 
of being loved ! ” 

But an anxiety drew them from this ecstatic state. 
What was that ? — they saw each other in a great white 
light, it seemed to them that the brightness of the 
moon had increased, shone like that of a sun. It was 
the dawn, a cloud turned purple above the elms of the 
bishop s house. Eh ! what ? — already day ! They were 
confounded by this, they could not believe that for 
hours they had been there, talking. She had said noth- 
ing to him yet and he had so many other things to say ! 

A minute, only a minute! ” 

The dawn, smilingly, increased, the dawn already warm 
with a hot dtij of summer. One by one, the stars were 
extinguished, and with them departed the wandering 
visions, the invisible friends, reascended in a ray of 
moonlight. Now, beneath the full light of day, * the 
chamber was no longer white save with the whiteness 
of its walls and its beams, all empty with its antique 
furniture of sombre oak. They saw the disturbed bed, 
which one of 'the chintz curtains, fallen down, half- 
concealed. 

A minute, a minute more 1 

Angelique had arisen, refusing, pressing Felicien to go. 
Since the day had been growing she had been filled with 
confusion, and the sight of the bed capped the climax. 
On her right, she had believed she heard a slight sound, 


LE REVE. 


167 


while her hair had been stirred although not a breath 
of wind had entered. Was it not Agnes, who was the 
last to depart, driven away by the sun ? 

“ No, leave me. It is so. light now that I am afraid ! 
Then, Felicien, obeying, withdrew. To be loved went 
beyond his desire. At the window he turned and again 
gazed at her for a long while, as if he wished to carry 
away something of her. Both of them smiled, bathed 
with the dawn, in that prolonged caress of their look. 

For the last time, he said to her : I love you ! ” 

And she repeated : I love you ! ” 

That was all, he had already descended by the wood- 
work, with a supple agility, while, remaining upon the 
balcony, leaning on the rail, she was following him with 
her eyes. She had taken the bouquet of violets and 
was smelling at it to drive away her excitement. And, 
when he was crossing the Clos-Marie and raised his 
head, he saw her kissing the flowers. 

Felicien had scarcely vanished behind the willows, 
when Angdlique grew uneasy on hearing, befow her, the 
door of the house open. Four o’clock struck, they 
never awakened until two hours later. Her surprise 
increased when she recognized Ilubertine ; for, usually, 
Hubert was the first to come down-stairs. She saw her 
walk slowly along the paths of the narrow garden, her 
arms hanging, her face pale in the morning air, as if a 
feeling of suffocation had caused her to quit her cham- 
ber so early, after a night of sleeplessness. And Huber- 
tine was very handsome yet, in her hastily fastened on 
garments ; and she seemed greatly fatigued, happy and 
hopeless. 


16S 


LE REVS- 


CHAPTER TIIL 

THE PROCESSION OF THE MIRACLE. 

T he next day, on awaking from a sleep of eiglit 
hours, one of those sweet and profound slumbers 
which give rest after great happiness, Angelique ran to 
her window. The sky was veiy clear, the hot Aveather 
continuing, after a heavy storm which had disturbed her 
the night before ; and she cried joyously to Hubert, who 
was opening the shutters below her: 

“ Father, father ! see the sun! Ah! how delighted I 
am ! The procession will be fine!’’ 

She quickly dressed herself to come down-stairs. It 
was that day, the 28 th of July, that the Procession of 
the Miracle was to pass through the streets of Beau- 
rnont. And, annually, at that date, the embroiderers took 
a holiday : they did not touch a needle, but spent the 
day decorating the house, according to a traditional pro- 
gramme, which, for four hundred years past, the mothers 
had bequeathed to the daughters. 

Angelique, while hastily drinking her coffee, was*al- 
ready thinking of the hangings. 

“ Mother, they ought to be examined to see if they 
are in good condition.’’ 

“ We have plenty of time,” answered Hubertine, in 
her placid voice. “ They will not be put up before 
noon.” 

They were talking of three admirable pieces of ancient 


LE KfiVE. 


169 


embroidery, which the Huberts kept religiously as a fam- 
ily relic and brought out once a year — the day the pro- 
cession passed. Since the preceding day, according to 
the custom, the master of ceremonies, the good Abbe 
Cornille, had been going from door to door to notify the 
inhabitants of the route to be followed by the statue of 
Saint Agnes, accompanied by Monseigneur, bearing the 
consecrated host. For more than four centuries this 
route had remained the same: the departure took place 
by the Saint Agnes door, the Eue des Orf^vres, the 
the Grand’Rue and the Eue Basse; then, after having 
crossed the new town, the procession regained the Eue 
Magloire and the Place du Cloitre to re-enter by the 
grand fagade. And the inhabitants, along the route, 
rivaled each other in zeal, dressed the windows, hung 
the walls with their richest stuffs and sowed the stony 
little sidewalk with rose leaves. 

Ang^lique grew calm only when she was permitted to 
take the three embroidered pieces from the drawer in 
which they had lain the entire year. 

There is nothing the matter with them, nothing 
whatever,” murmured she, delighted. 

When she had carefully removed the tissue paper 
which protected them, they appeared, all three devoted 
to Mary : the Virgin receiving the visit of the Angel, 
the Virgin weeping at the foot of the cross, and the Vir- 
gin ascending to Heaven. They dated from the Fif- 
teenth Century, Avere in shaded silk upon a background 
of gold and wonderfully well-preserved ; the embroid- 
erers, who had refused large sums for them, were very 
proud of them. 


170 


LE rSvE. 

“ Mother, I will hang them up ! ” 

It was quite an aflair. Hubert spent the morning in 
cleaning the aged front. He fastened a broom to the 
end of a pole and dusted the sections of wood garnished 
with bricks, as far as the framework of the roof; then, 
with a sponge, he washed the stone base, as well as all 
the portions of the stairway turret which he could reach. 
And the three embroidered pieces, then, were put in 
tbeir places. Angelique hung them by the rings to the 
old nails, the Annunciation beneath the window on the 
left, the Assumption beneath that on the right ; as to the 
Calvary, it had its nails above the huge window of the 
ground-floor, and she was compelled to bring out a step- 
ladder to hang it there in its turn. She had already 
decked the windows with flowers, and the antique dwell- 
ing seemed to have returned to the distant time of its 
youth, with those embroideries of gold and silk glisten- 
ing in the grand holiday sunlight. • 

Since breakfast, all the Rue des Orfcvres had been in 
motion. To avoid the excessive heat, the procession 
was not to start until five o’clock ; but, by noon, the 
town was making its toilet. Opposite the Huberts, the 
goldsmith hung his shop with sky-blue draperies, edged 
with a silver fringe; while the wax-chandler, beside 
him, utilized the curtains of his alcove, red cottonade 
curtaittvS, looking like blood in the full light. And at 
every home were other colors, a profusion of stuffs, all 
the occupants had, even down to bed -curtains, flapping 
in the lazy breezes of the hot day. The street was clad 
with them, of a brilliant and quivering gayety, changed 
into a gala corridor, open to the sky. All the inhab- 


LE EEVE. 


171 


itants were running against each other there, talking in 
loud tones as if at home, some carrying arm -loads of 
objects, others climbing, driving nails .and shouting. 
Without counting the reposoir which was being erected 
at the corner of the Grand’Eue, and which set in motion 
the women of the neighborhood, eager to furnish the 
vases and tapers. 

Angelique ran to offer the two candelabra in the style 
of the Empire, which ornamented the maiitlepiece of the 
salon. She had been constantly on the go since morn- 
ing, but was not in the slightest degree fatigued, 
sustained and borne along by her great internal joy. 
And, as she returned, her hair floating in the breeze, 
plucking roses to pieces in a basket, Hubert said to 
her, jokingly : 

“ You will take less trouble on your wedding-day. Is 
it you, then, who are about to be married ? ” 

“Yes, indeed, it is II” answered she, gayly. 

Ilubertine smiled in her turn. 

“ Meanwhile, since the liouse is decked, we would 
do well to go up-stairs and dress ourselves.” 

“ Eight away, mother. See, my basket is full. 

She was finishing plucking to pieces her roses, which 
she had reserved to cast before Monseigneur. The petals 
rained from her slender fingers and the basket over- 
flowed with its light and odorous contents. Then, she 
disappeared in the narrow stairway of the turret, saying 
with a burst of laughter : 

“I’ll soon make myself as beautiful as a star!” 

The afternoon was advancing. Now, the excitement 
of Beaumont-l’lllglise had quieted down ; there was a 


172 


LE REVE. 


quivering expectation in the streets, which were ready 
at last and humming with discreet voices. The exces- 
sive heat had decreased with the slanting sun, there fell 
from the pale sky, between the cramped houses, only a 
warm and sharp shadow, of a soft serenity. And the 
dreaminess was profound, as if all the old town had be- 
come a prolongation of the cathedral. The noise of ve- 
hicles alone mounted from Beaumont-la-Ville, the new 
town, on the bank of the Ligneul, where many manu- 
factories did not even suspend work, disdaining to honor 
this antique religious solemnity. 

At four o’clock, the heavy bell of the northern tower, 
that one the swaying of which shook the house of the 
Huberts, began to ring; and it was at the same instant 
that Angelique and Ilubertine reappeared, dressed. The 
latter wore a dress of ecru stuff, garnished with modest 
thread lace, but her shape was so youthful, in its robust 
roundness, that she seemed to be the elder sister of her 
adopted daughter. Angelique had put on her dress of 
white foulard ; and nothing else, not a jewel in her ears or 
about her wrists, nothing but her bare hands, her bare 
neck, nothing but the satin of her skin, emerging from 
the light stuff like the bloom of a flower. An invisi- 
ble comb, planted in haste, imperfectly retained the 
curls of her rebellious hair of a sunny flaxen hue. She 
was frank and stately, of a pure simplicity and as beau- 
tiful as a star. 

“Ah ! ” said she, “ they are ringing ; Monseigneur has 
left the bishop’s house.” 

The bell continued, loud and grave, in the great clear- 
ness of the heavens. And the Huberts installed them- 


LE REVE. 


173 


selves at the wide-open window of the ground-floor, the 
two women leaning on the sill, the man standing behind 
them. These were their usual places ; they were in a 
good position to see well and would be the first to ob- 
serve the procession come from the depths of the church, 
without losing a candle of the file. 

“ Where is my basket ? ” demanded Angdlique. 

Hubert was compelled to pass her the basket of roses 
plucked to pieces, which she kept in heV arms, clasped 
aofainst her bosom. 

“Oh! that bell!” murmured she again. “How it 
rocks us!” 

All the little house vibrated, sonorous with the peal 
of i];e bell ; and the street, the quarter remained in ex- 
pectation, seized upon by that quiver, while the hangings 
flapped more languidly in }he evening air. The perfume 
of the roses was very sweet. 

Half an hour passed. Then, simultaneously, the two 
leaves of the Saint Agnes door were thrown open and the 
depths of the church appeared, their obscurity pricked 
with the small, gleaming specks of the wax candles. 
And first the cross-bearer came out, a sub-deacon in a 
tunic, flanked by two acolytes, each holding a huge 
lighted torch. Behind them hastened the master of 
ceremonies, the good Abbe Cornille, who, after having 
assured himself of the good condition of the street, 
paused upon the porch and watched the filing off‘ for an 
instant to ascertain if the proper places were suitably 
taken. The lay brotherhoods opened the march, pious 
associations, schools, by rank of seniority. There were 
some very small children, little girls in white like brides, 


174 


LE REVE. 


curly and bareheaded little boys dressed like princes, de- 
lighted and already looking around for their mothers. A 
brisk little fellow of nine years walked alone, in the 
centre, dressed to represent St. John the Baptist, with 
a sheepskin over his meagre bare shoulders. Four 
gamines, decked with pink ribbons, carried a huge 
muslin shield on which stood a sheaf of ripe wheat. 
Then came tall young ladies grouped around a banner 
of the Virgin, ladies in black, who also had their banner, 
a bit of crimson silk embroidered with a Saint Joseph, 
others, other banners yet, in velvet, in satin, poised at 
the tops of gilded staffs. The brotherhoods of men were 
not less numerous, penitents of every color, the gray 
penitents especially, clad in brown stuff*, hooded and bear- 
ing an emblem which caused a sensation — an immense 
cross garnished with a wheel, from which hung, hooked 
on, the instruments of the Passion. 

Angelique exclaimed, tenderly, as soon as the children 
showed themselves : 

“ Oh ! the loves ! Look now ! ” 

One, not taller than a boot, hardly three years old, 
uncertain and proud upon his little feet, passed looking 
so droll that she plunged her hand into the basket and 
covered him with a handful of flowers. He vanished, he 
had roses upon his shoulders, among his hair. And the 
soft laugh he raised captured one after another, flowers 
rained from each window. In the buzzing silence of the 
street, the deadened tread of the procession now alone 
was heard, while the handsful of flowers fell upon the 
sidewalk with a silent flight. Soon every spot was 
strewed with them. 


LE KEVE. 


175 


But, reassured by the good order of the laity, the 
Abbe Cornille grew impatieut, uneasy because the cortege 
had stopped for two minutes, and he hastened to regain, 
the head, saluting the Huberts with a smile as he went 
along. 

What is the matter with them that they do not 
march ? ” said Angelique, a prey to excitement, as if she 
had, at the other end, down there, expected her happi- 
ness. 

Hubertine answered, with her calm air : 

“ They have no need to run.” 

‘‘ Some encumbrance, perhaps a reposoir which is being 
finished,” explained Hubert. 

The Daughters of tlie Virgin had begun to sing a 
liymn, and their sharp voices mounted into the open air 
with a crystal limpidity. A movement was communi- 
cated from one to another and the procession started off 
again. 

Now, after the laity, the clergy commenced to emerge 
from the church, the lowest in rank first. All, in 
surplices, put the barretta on their heads upon the porch ; 
and each one held a lighted wax candle, those of the 
right in the right hand, those of the left in the left hand, 
beyond the ranks, a double row of small, moving flames, 
almost extinguished in the full light. First marched the 
grand seminary, the parishes, the collegiate churches; 
then came the clerks and the beneficiaries of the cathedral, 
who were followed by the canons, their shoulders covered 
with white pluvials. In the midst of them were the 
choristers, in red silk copes, who had begun the anthem 
with full voices, and to whom all the clergy responded 


176 


LE REVE. 


with a lighter chant. The hymn, “ Pange, Lingua,” 
arose very clearly, the street was full of a great rustling 
"of muslin, the flying wings of surplices, which the little 
flames of the wax candles riddled with their pale gold 
stars. 

“ Oh ! Saint Agnes ! ” murmured Angdlique. 

She smiled upon the saint, whom four clerks bore 
upon a litter of blue velvet, ornamented with lace. 
Every year sbe experienced astonishment on seeing her 
thus outside of the gloom in which she had watched for 
centuries, altogether different beneath the bright light, in 
her robe of long golden locks. She was so old, and very 
young nevertheless, with her little hands, her weak little 
feet and her slight visage of a little girl, blackened by 
age. 

But Monseigneur was to follow her. Already the 
sound of swinging censers was heard, coming from the 
depths of the church. 

There were whispers and Angdlique repeated: 

“ Monseigneur ! Monseigneur ! ” 

And, at that minute, with her eyes upon the saint 
who was passing, she recalled the old histories, the 
mighty marquises of Hautecoeur delivering Beaumont 
from the pestilence, thanks to the intervention of Agnes, 
Jean V. and all those of his race coming to kneel before 
her, votaries of her image; and slie saw them all, the 
seigneurs of the Miracle, file off* one by one, like a line 
of princes. 

A large space had remained vacant. Then, the chap- 
lain, charged with the care of the crozier, advanced, 
holding it straight, the bent part towards him. After- 


LE REVE. 


177 


wards j^ppeared two censer- l^arers, wlio walked back- 
wards and slightly swung the censers, each having beside 
him an acolyte charged with the pan. And tlie great 
dais of purple velvet, garnished with gold fringe, had 
some difficulty in getting through one of the door- 
ways. But order was quickly re-established and the 
authorities took their staffs. Beneath the dais, between 
his deacons of honor, Monseigneur walked, bareheaded, 
his shoulders covered with the white scarf, the two 
ends of which enveloped his hands, which bore the con- 
secrated host without touching it, holding it very high. 

Immediately, the censer- bearers took the field and the 
censers, sent flying out, fell back in harmony, with the 
slight silvery sound of their little chains. 

Where had Angelique known some one who resem- 
bled Monseigneur? A religious absorption bowed all 
the foreheads. But she, with her head half-bent, was 
glancing at him. He was of lofty stature, slender and 
noble, superbly youthful for his sixty years. His eagle 
eyes shone, his somewhat large nose accentuated the sov- 
ereign authority of his face, softened by his white hair, 
in thick curls ; and she noticed the pallor of his com- 
plexion, upon which she thought she saw a flow of blood 
ascend. Perhaps that was only the reflection of the 
huge golden sun, which he carried in his covered hands 
and which placed him in a radiance of mystic light. 

Certainly, a visage resembling his was evoked frorq. 
the depths of her recollection. At the first steps hp 
took. Monseigneur had commenced the verses of a 
psalm, which he recited in a low voice, with his deacons, 
alternately. And she trembled when she saw him turn 
11 


178 


LE R]SVE. 

liis eyes towards tlie window at wliich slie waSj^o stern 
did lie appear to her, of a haughty coldness, condemning 
the vanity of every passion. His glances had gone to 
the three ancient embroideries, Mary visited by the 
Angel, Mary at the foot of the Cross, Mary ascending to 
Heaven. They expressed delight, then they were low- 
ered and fixed upon her, though, in her confusion, she 
could not comprehend whether they had paled from 
harshness or from kindness. Already they had returned 
to the consecrated host, motionless, extinguished in the 
reflection of the huge golden sun. The censers were 
swung out rapidly and fell back with the silvery sound 
of the little chains, while a small cloud, the smoke of 
incense, mounted in the air. 

But Angelique’s heart was beating as if about to 
break. Behind the dais she had just caught sight of the 
mitre. Saint Agnes borne away by two angels, the woi'k 
lovingly embroidered by her, thread by thread, which a 
chaplain, his fingers enveloped in a veil, was carrying 
devoutly, like a holy thing. And there, among the laity 
who followed, in the flood of functionaries, of officers, ot 
magistrates, she had recognized Felicien, in the first 
rank, slender and blonde, wearing a dress coat, with his 
curly hair, his straight nose, somewhat large, and his black 
eyes of a haughty gentleness. She had expected him, 
and was not surprised to see him at last changed into a 
prince. To the anxious glance which he cast at her, 
imploring pardon for his deception, she replied with a 
pure smile. 

“ Look there ! ” murmured Hubertine, in stupefac- 
tion. “ Is not that our young man ? ’’ 


LE REVE. 


179 


She also had recognized him, and she was disturbed 
when, turning, she saw her daughter transfigured. 

“ So he has lied to us, eh ? Do you know why ? Do 
you know who that young man is ? ” 

Yes, perhaps she knew. A voice within her had re- 
plied to recent questions. But she dare not, she did not 
wish to further interrogate herself. Certainty would 
come at the proper time. She felt the approach of it in 
a swelling of pride and of passion. 

“ Wliat is the matter ? demanded Hubert, leaning 
over behind his wife. 

He was never at the present moment. And, when she 
had pointed out the young man to him, he did not even 
recollect him. 

“ He ! Is it possible ? ” 

Then, Hubertine afiected to have made a mistake. It 
was the wisest thing to do — she would make inquiries. 
But the procession, which had halted anew while Mon- 
seigneur, at the corner of the street, was perfuming the 
consecrated host with incense, amid the verdure of the 
reposoir, was about to move on again ; and Angelique, 
whose hand had been forgotten in the depths of the 
basket, holding a last handful of rose leaves, made a too 
prompt movement and cast the flowers in her spell- 
bound confusion. Just at that.. moment Felicien resumed 
his march. The flowers rained down, and two petals, 
swaying slowly, flew upon his hair. 

It was the end. The dais had disappeared at the cor- 
ner of the Grand’Rue, the last of the cortege flowed 
away, leaving the sidewalk deserted, religiously absorbed, 
as if made drowsy by dreamy faith, amid the somewhat 


180 


LE REVE. 


biting exhalations of the trodden roses. And they 
heard yet, in the distance, growing fainter and fainter, 
the silvery sound of the little chains, falling back at each 
flight of the censers. 

“Oh! won’t you, mother?” cried Angelique. “Let 
us go into the church to see them return I ” 

Hubertine’s first impulse was to refuse. But she her- 
self felt such a strong desire to acquire certainty that she 
consented. 

“Yes, presently, since it will give you pleasure.” 

But it was necessary to be patient. Angelique, who 
had gone up-stairs to put on a hat, could not remain in 
one place. She returned every minute to the window, 
which was still wide-open ; she interrogated the end of 
the street, raised her eyes as if to interrogate space itself; 
and she spoke aloud, she followed the procession. 

“They are coming down the Eue Basse. Ah! they 
must be filing out upon the square in front of the Sous- 
Prefecture. The great streets of Beaumont-la- Ville have 
no end. And it’s much pleasure those cloth merchants 
take in seeing Saint Agnes 1 ” 

A fine pink mist, delicately cut by a trellis of gold, 
hovered in the skv. It was felt in the motionlessness 

t/ 

of the air that all civil life was suspended, that God had 
quitted His house and that every one was waiting for 
Him to be taken back there to resume their daily occu- 
pations. Opposite, the blue draperies of the goldsmith 
and the red curtains of the wax-chandler yet barred their 
shops. The streets seemed asleep, there was only the 
slow passage, from one to another, of the clergy, whose 
tread was divined at all points of the town. 


LE REVE. 


181 


“ Mother, mother, I assure you that they are at the 
entrance of the Kue Magloire. They are about to ascend 
the slope.” 

She told a falsehood; it was only half-past six o'clock^ 
and the procession never returned before a quarter past 
seven. She was well aware that the dais must, at that 
moment, be passing along the low quays of the Ligneul. 
But she was in such haste ! 

“ Mother, let us hurry ; we will not get places.” 

“ Well, come along ! ” said Hubertine at last, smiling 
in spite of herself. 

“As for me, I shall stay here,” declared Hubert. “ I 
will take down the embroideries and set the table.” 

The church seemed empty to them, God no longer 
being there. All its doors had remained open, like those 
of a house in confusion, where the return of the master 
is awaited. But few people had entered ; the main altar 
alone, a strict sarcophagus of the Twelfth Century style, 
glowed in the depths of the nave, starred with wax can- 
dles ; and the rest of the vast interior, the lateral naves 
and the chapels were filling up with darkness beneath 
the fall of twilight. 

Slowly, Angelique and Hubertine made the tour. 
Below, the edifice had a crushing effect; short, thick 
pillars supported the full arches of the wings. They 
walked along the gloomy chapels, buried like crypts. 
Then, when they crossed in front of the principal door, 
beneath the organ loft, they felt a sensation of deliver- 
ance on raising their eyes toward the lofty Gothic win- 
dows of the nave, which shot up above the heavy Twelfth 
Century masonry. But they went on along the southern 


182 


LE REVE. 


lateral nave and tlie stifling effect recommenced. At the 
cross of the transept, four enormous columns were at the 
four corners, mounting in a sustained flight to the 
arched roof; and there still reigned a mauve brightness, 
the adieu of the day among the roses of the lateral 
facades. They climbed the three steps which led to the 
choir gallery, they went around the circumference of the 
arch, the most anciently erected portion, which was 
' entombed as in a sepulchre. For an instant, against the 
highly ornamented old grating, which closed the choir 
gallery on all sides, they paused to look at the scintilla- 
tion of the main altar, the little flames of which were 
reflected in the polished old oak of the stalls, marvellous 
stalls all flowered with sculpture. And they came back 
thus to their point of departure, raising their heads anew, 
believing they felt the wind of the flight of the nave, 
while the growing shadows recoiled, enlarging the 
antique walls, where the remains of gold and painting 
were fading. 

“ I knew it was too soon,” said Hubertine. 

Angelique, without replying, murmured: 

“ How grand it is ! ” 

It seemed to her that she was not acquainted with the 
church, that she saw it for the first time. Her eyes 
wandered over the motionless rows of chairs, went to the 
depths of the chapels, where one divined the old tomb- 
stones only by a redoubling of shade. But she encoun- 
tered the Hautecoeur Chapel, she recognized the stained 
glass window, which at last had been repaired, with its 
Saint George as vague as a vision in the dying light. 
And it gave her great joy. 


LE REVE. 


183 


At tliat moment, a swaying animated tlie cathedral; 
the heavy bell again began to peal. 

“Ah!” said she, “they are coming, they are coming 
lip the Eue Magloire.” 

This time, it was true. A wave of the crowd invaded 
the wings, and one felt the nearer approach of the pro- 
cession from minute to minute. This sensation increased 
with the peals of the bell, with a great breath which 
came from without through the yawning principal door. 
God was returning. 

Angelique, leaning upon Hubertine’s shoulder, stand- 
ing on the tips of her toes, watched that open doorway, 
the rotundity of which carved itself in the white twi- 
light of the Place du Cloitre. First, reappeared the sub- 
deacon bearing the cross, flanked by the two acolytes 
with their candlesticks ; and, behind them, hastened 
the master of ceremonies, the good Abbd Cornille, 
panting, broken with fatigue. On the threshold of the 
church, each new arrival detached himself for a second, 
in a clear and vigorous silhouette, then lost himself in the 
interior darkness. They were the laity, the schools, the 
associations, the brotherhoods, whose banners s waved like 
sails and then were suddenly swallowed up by the gloom. 
One saw again the white group of the Daughters of the 
Virgin, who entered singing with their sharp seraphim 
voices. The cathedral was constantly swallowing; the 
nave filled slowly, the men on the right, the women 
on the left. But night had come on ; the square, 
in the distance, was pricked with sparks, with hun- 
dreds of small, moving lights, and it was the turn 
of the clerg}^, with their lighted wax candles beyond 


184 


LE REVE. 


•1 

the ranks, a donble cordon of yellow flames which 
passed through the door. This seemed endless, the wax ^ 
candles succeeded each other, multiplied, the grand sem- 
inary, the parishes, the cathedral, the choristers attack- 
ing the anthem, the canons in white pluvials. And, 
gradually, then, the church was lighted up, peopled with 
these flames, illuminated, riddled with hundreds of stars 
like a summer sky. 

Two chairs were free* Angdlique got upon one of 
them. 

“ Get down I said Hubertine. “ That’s forbidden [ ” 

But she camly persisted. 

“Why forbidden? I want to see. Oh I it’s beauti- 
ful!” 

And she finally persuaded her mother to get upon the 
other chair. 

Now, all the cathedral was glowing, fiery. That swell 
of wax candles which was crossing it kindled reflec- 
tions beneath the low vaults of the lateral naves, in 
the depths of the chapels, where sparkled the glass of a 
shrine, the gold of a tabernacle. Even in the circum- 
ference of the arcli, as far as the sepulchral crypts, rays 
awoke. The choir flamed, with its fiery altar, its gleaming 
stalls and its old grating, the roses of which stood out in 
black. And the flight ef the nave became still more 
clearly defined, below% the heavy thick-set pillars sup- 
porting the full arches, above, the fasces of little columns 
dwindling away, blooming, amid the broken arches of the 
ogives, a whole rapture of faith and love, which was 
like the very radiance of the light. 

But, amid the roll of feet and the moving of chairs, 


LE KEVE. 


185 


one heard anew the fall of the tinkling little chains of 
tlie censers. And the organs immediately chanted an 
enormous phrase, which overflowed and filled the vaults 
with the muttering of thunder. Monseigneur was still 
in the square. Saint Agnes, at that moment, reached 
the arch, yet borne by the clerks, her face wearing a 
calm look in the glow of the wax candles, delighted to 
return to her dreams of four centuries. Finally, pre- 
ceded by the crozier, followed by the mitre. Monseigneur 
re-entered, holding the consecrated host in the same 
way, in both his hands covered with the scarf. The 
dais, which was filing off in the centre of the nave, 
stopped before the choir grating. There a little confusion 
occurred, and the bishop was for a moment brought 
near to the persons of his suite. 

Since Felicien had reappeared, behind the mitre, 
Angelique had not taken her eyes from him. Now, it 
happened that he was crowded to the riglit of the dais ; 

■ and, at that instant, she saw, with the same glance, the 
white head of Monseigneiir and the blonde head of the 
young man. A flash passed over her eyelids, she 
clasped her hands and spoke aloud : • 

“ Oh ! Monseigneur, Monseigneur’s son ! ” 

Her secret had escaped from her. It was an involun- 
tary cry, the certainty which had finally established 
itself in the sudden light of their resemblance. Per- 
haps, within herself, she had known it before, but she 
would not have dared even to think of it; while now it 
shone forth and dazzled her. From every direction, 
from herself and from things, remembrances arose and 
repeated her cry. 


186 


LE REVE. 


Hubertine, astounded, murmured : 

“ Monseigneur’s son ! — that young man ! ” 

People had pushed up around the pair. They recog- 
nized and admired them, the mother still adorable in 
her toilet of plain stuff, the daughter as graceful as an 
archangel, with her dress of white foulard, as supple as 
a feather. They were so handsome and so readily seen, 
thus mounted upon the chairs, that glances were raised 
to and riveted upon them. 

“ Yes, indeed, my good lady,” said M^re Lemballeuse, 
who was in the group, “yes, indeed, he is Monseigneur’s 
son! What! didn’t you know it? And a handsome 
young man, and rich, ah! rich enough to buy the town, 
if he wanted it. He has millions, millions ! ” 

Hubertine listened, as pale as death. 

“ Haven’t you heard the story ? ” continued the old 
mendicant. His mother died when he was born, and 
it was then that Monseigneur became a priest. Now, 
he has resolved to keep him with him. — Felicien YII. 
of Hautecoeur, a real prince, as one might say.” 

Then, a look of great trouble settled on Hubertine’s 
face. And' Angelique was radiant before her dream, 
which was realizing itself. Still she was not astonished, 
she had well known that he must be the richest, the 
handsomest, the noblest; but her joy was immense, 
perfect, without fear of obstacles, which she did not fore- 
see. At last, he had made himself known, he had given 
himself in his turn. The gold gushed with the little 
flames of the wax candles, the organs sang the pomp of 
their betrothal, the line of the Hautecoeurs filed off 
royally from the depths of the legend : Norbert I., Jean 


LK RftVE. 


187 


Y., Felicien III., Jean XII.; then, the last, Felicien VII., 
'svho had turned his blonde head towards her. He was 
the descendant of the cousins of the Virgin, the master, 
the superb Jesus, revealing himself in his glory beside 
his father ! 

At that instant, Felicien smiled upon her, and she did 
not notice the angry look of Monseigneur, who had just 
perceived her standing upon the chair, above the crowd, 
the blood in her face, proud and passionate. 

‘‘All ! my poor child ! ” sighed Hubertine, in despair. 

But the chaplains and the acolytes had ranged them- 
selves to the right and the left, and the first deacon, hav- 
ing taken the consecrated host from Monseigneur’s hands, 
placed it upon the altar. Then came the final benedic- 
tion, the “ Tantum Ergo ” thundered by the choristers, 
the incense of the perfuming-pans smoking in the censers, 
the great, sudden silence of the prayer. And, in the 
centre of the fiery church, overflowing with the clergy 
and the people, beneath the lofty arches. Monseigneur 
ascended to the altar, took up with both hands the great 
golden sun, which, three times, he moved in the air, 
slowly making the sign of the cross. 


188 


LE k£tE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A CRUEL SHOCK. 

T hat very evening, on returning from the church, 
Angelique thought: “I shall see him presently: 

he will be in the Clos-Marie, and I will go down there to 
meet him.” Their eyes had appointed this rendezvous. 

They did not dine until eight o’clock, in the kitchen, 
according to custom. Hubert was the only one who 
talked, excited by the holidajL Hubertine, grown very 
serious, scarcely answered, keeping her glance fixed on 
the young girl, who was eating with an enormous ap- 
petite, but unconsciously, without appearing to know 
that she was lifting the fork to her mouth, wholly ab- 
sorbed in lier dream. And Hubertine read her clearly, 
saw her thoughts form and follow each other one by one 
beneath her frank forehead as beneath the crystal of 
pure water. 

At nine o’clock, a pull at the door bell astonished 
them. It was the Abbe Cornille. Despite his fatigue, 
he had come to inform them that Monseigneur had greatly 
admired the three ancient pieces of embroidery. 

Yes, he spoke of them in my presence. I knew that 
you would be delighted to learn what he said.” 

Angelique, who, at the mention of Monseigneur’s 
name, had exhibited interest, fell back into her reverie 
as soon as they began to talk of the procession. Then, 
after a few minutes, she arose to her feet. 


LE REVE. 


189 


“ Where are you going ? ” questioned Hubertine. 

This query surprised her, as if she herself had not 
asked herself why she arose. 

“ Mother, I am going up -stairs ; I am greatly fatigued.’’ 

And, behind that excuse, Hubertine divined the real 
reason — the need of being alone with her happiness. 

“ Come embrace me.” 

When she held her pressed against her in her arms, 
she felt her quiver. She almost avoided her usual even- 
ing kiss. Then, very grave, she looked her in the fice 
and I’ead in her eyes the accepted rendezvous and her 
eagerness to go to it. 

“ Be prudent and sleep well.” 

But already Ang^dique, after a hasty good-night to 
Hubert and the Abbe Cornille, had gone np to her 
chamber in affright, so plainly had she felt that her 
secret had been upon her lips. If her mother had held 
her a second longer against her heart, she would have 
spoken. When she had double locked herself in, the 
light annoyed her and she blew out her candle. The 
moon now rose later and later and the night was very 
dark. Without undressing herself, seated before the 
window of)en upon the darkness, she waited for hours. 
The minutes fled rapidly away, one idea sufficing to keep 
her occupied : she would go down to meet him at the 
stroke of midnight. This would be brought about very 
naturally ; she saw herself advance step by step, move- 
ment by movement, with that ease one has in dreams. 
Almost immediately, she had heard the Abbe Cornille 
take his departure. Afterwards, the Huberts had come 
up-stairs in their turn. Twice it seemed to her that 


190 


LE REVE. 


tlieir cliamber door reopened, that stealthy feet advanced 
as far as the stairway, as if some one had come to listen 
there for an instant. Then, the house appeared to be 
plunged in a profound sleep. 

When the hour had struck, Angelique arose. 

“ I will go — he is waiting for me.” 

And she opened her door, which she did not even 
close again. On the stairway, as she passed before the 
Huberts’ chamber, she listened ; but she heard nothing, 
nothing save the quiver of the silence. Besides, she 
was altogether at her ease, without either fear or haste, 

not realizing that she was in fault. A power led her ; 

« 

it seemed to her so simple that the idea of a danger 
would have made her smile. Below, she went out into 
the garden through the kitchen and again forgot to shut 
the door after her. Then, with her rapid step, she 
gained the little gate which opened upon the Clos-Marie, 
leaving that also wide-open behind her. In the Cl os, 
despite the thick gloom, she felt no hesitation, but 
walked straight to the plank, crossed the Chevrotte and 
went groping about as if in a familiar spot where each 
ti'ee was known to her. And, turning to the right, be- 
neath a willow, she had but to stretch out her hands to 
meet the hands of him whom she knew to be there, 
waiting for her. 

Mute for an instant, Angelique pressed in hers the 
hands of Felicien. They could not see each other, for 
the sky Avas clouded by a heat mist which the slender 
moon just arisen had not yet illuminated. And she 
spoke in the darkness, her whole heart relieved itself of 
its great joy. 


LE REVE. 


191 


“ AL ! my dear seigneur, liow I love you and Low I 
thank you!” 

She laughed because she knew him at last, she 
thanked him for being young, handsome and rich, much 
more so than she had hoped. It was a ringing gayety, 
a cry of amazement and gratitude in the presence of 
that gift of love which her dream had made her. 

“You are the king, you are my master, and I belong 
to you ; I regret only that I am of such small impor- 
tance. But I am proud to be yours ; that you love me 
will suffice to make me a queen in my turn. It was 
useless for me to know and wait for you, my heart has 
enlarged since you have become so great in it. Ah! my 
dear seigneur, how I thank you and how I love you ! ” 

Then, he gently put his arm about her waist j he led 
her away, saying: 

“ Come to my home.” 

He took her to the back of the Clos-Marie, through 
the wild grass ; and she discovered how, every evening, 
he had entered by means of the old grating of the 
bishop’s house, which had been nailed up in the past. 
He had left this grating open ; he introduced her upon 
his arm into Monseigneur’s vast garden. In the sky, 
the moon gradually rising, hidden behind the veil of hot 
vapors, whitened them with a milky transparency. The 
whole heavens, without a star, were filled with a dust of 
brightness, which rained silently down amid the serenity 
of the night. They went slowly up the Chevrotte, the 
course of which traversed the park ; but it was no 
longer the rapid brook, hurled over a stony declivity ; 
it was a calm streamlet, a languid streamlet, wandering 


192 


LE REVE. 


amid clumps of trees. And, beneatli the luminous mist, 

between those bathed and swaying trees, the elysian 

« 

stream seemed to roll away in a dream. 

Angelique resumed, joyously : 

I am so proud and so happy to be thus upon your 
arm ! 

Feliclen, delighted with so much simplicity and charm, 
listened to her speaking without embarrassment, hiding 
nothing, saying aloud what she thought, in the inno- 
cence of her heart. 

“Ah! dear soul, it is I who ought to be grateful to 
you for being willing to love me a little in such a pretty 
way. But tell me why you love me, tell me what took 
place within you when, at last, you discovered who I 
was.” 

But, with a pretty gesture of impatience, she inter- 
rupted him. 

“No, no, let us talk of you, nothing but you. Do I 
count for anything? Does it matter what I am, what I 
think ? It is you alone who exist now.” 

And, pressing herself against him, slackening her 
pace along the enchanted brook, she questioned him 
endlessly, she wished to know everything — his child- 
hood, his youth, the twenty years he had lived away 
from his father. 

“ I know that your mother died at your birth and that 
you grew up at the home of an uncle, an old abbe. I 
know that Monseigneur refused to see you.” 

Then, Felicien spoke very low, in a far-off voice, which 
seemed to mount from the past. 

“Yes, my father adored my mother; I was guilty of 


193 


LE RfiVE. 

coming and killing her. My uncle brought me up in 
ignorance of my family, harshly, as if I had been a poor 
infant entrusted to his care. I learned the truth only 
very late, scarcely two years ago. But I was not sur- 
prised, I had felt that great fortune back of me. All 
regular toil wearied me, I was good only to scour the 
fields. Then, my passion for the stained glass windows 
of our little church declared itself.” 

Ang^lique laughed and he also brightened up. 

“I am a toiler like you; I had decided to win my 
bread by painting stained glass windows, when all this 
money fell down upon me. And my father was greatly 
vexed when my uncle wrote to him that I was a devil, 
that never would I enter into orders ! It was his formal 
wish to see me a priest, perhaps in the idea that I would 
thus make amends for the murder of my mother. He 
gave it up, however, and recalled me to him. Ah ! how 
good is it to live, to live! — to live in order to love and 
be loved 1 ” 

His healthy and virgin youth vibrated in that cry, with 
which the calm night quivered. It was the passion, the 
passion of which his mother had died, the passion which 
had cast him to this first love, evolved from mystery. 
All his fury came out in it, his beauty, his loyalty, his 
ignorance and his greedy desire for life. 

“I was like you, I was waiting, and the night you ap- 
peared at your window I also recognized you. Tell me 
what you w^ere dreaming about, relate to me something 
concerning your previous days.” 

But again she closed his mouth. 

“No, let us talk of you, nothing but you. I would 

12 


194 


LE REVE. 


like nothing concerning you to remain concealed from 
me. Let me hold you, let me love you in your entirety !” 

And she did not weary of hearing him talk of himself, 
in an ecstatic joy at knowing liiin, adoring like a holy 
maid at the feet of Jesus. And neither the one nor the 
other tired of repeating the same things incessantly — 
how they had fallen in love, how they loved. The words 
returned alike, but always new, taking unforseen, un- 
fathom abit meanings. Their happiness increased as they 
descended into it, as they tasted its music upon their lips. 
He confessed to her the spell in which she lieldhim with 
her voice alone, so affected that he became lier slave 
merely on hearing it. She avowed the delicious fear 
into which he threw her when his white skin grew purple 
with a rush of blood at the slightest anger. And they 
had now quitted the misty banks of the Chevrotte, they 
had plunged into the gloomy grove of tall elms, their 
arms about each other’s waists. 

“Oh! this garden,” murmured Angelique, enjoying 
the coolness which fell from the leaves. “For years I 
have wanted to come in here. And I am here with you, 
I am here ! ” 

She did not ask him whither he was conducting her, 
she abandoned herself upon his arm amid the shadows 
of the aged tree-trunks. The ground was soft to the 
feet, the arches of leaves lost themselves very high up, 
like the arches of a church. Not a sound, not a breath 
— ^nothing but the beating of their hearts. 

At last, he pushed open the door of a pavilion and said 
to her; 

“Enter; you are at my home.” 


LE REVE. 


195 


It \vas there that his father had deemed fit to lodge 
him, apart, in that remote corner of the park. There 
was, below, a grand salon ; above, a complete suite of 
apartments. A lamp lighted the vast room of the 
ground-floor. 

“You see plainly,” resumed he, with a smile, “that 
you are at the house of an artisan. There is my work- 
shop.” 

A workshop, indeed, the caprice of a rich young man, 
who, in the guise of a trade, took pleasure in painting on 
glass. He had revived the ancient processess of the 
Thirteenth Century, and could believe himself one of 
those primitive painters on glass, producing masterpieces 
with the imperfect means of the day. The ancient table 
sufficed for him, covered with melted chalk, upon which 
he designed in red, and where he cut the glass with a hot 
iron, disdaining the diamond. At that moment, the 
moufle, a little oven, reconstructed after a design, was 
charged ; the process of baking was going on there, the 
repairing of another stained glass window of the cathe- 
dral ; and there was also in the room, in boxes, glass of 
every color, which he must have had manufactured for 
himself, the blues, the yellows, the greens, the reds, pale, 
sprinkled, smoky, sombre, mother-of-pearl, intense. But 
the room was hung with admirable stuffs, the workshop 
vanished beneath a marvellous luxury of furnishing. 
At the back, upon an antique tabernacle which served it 
for a pedestal, a tall gilded Virgin was smiling with its 
purple lips. 

“And you work, you work,” repeated Angdlique with 
the joy of a child. 


198 


XE K^IVE. 


She was greatly amused by the oven, she exacted from 
him an explanation of all bis work : why he contented 
himself, after the example of the old masters, with em- 
ploying glass colored in tbe paste, which he merely 
shaded with black ; why he clung to small, distinct per- 
sonages, accentuating the looks and the draperies ; and his 
ideas about the art of the glass-stainer, which had de- 
clined since they had begun to paint on glass, to enamel 
it, in designing better ; and his final opinion that a 
stained glass work should be solely a transparent mosaic, 
the most lively tones arranged in the most harmonious 
order, a whole delicate and brilliant bouquet of colors. 
But, at that moment, she cared nothing whatever about 
the art of the glass-stainer. Those things had but one 
interest — coming from him, occupying her further with 
him, being like a very dependencj^ of his person. 

“Ah!’^ said she, “we shall be happy. You will 
paint, I will embroider.” 

He had again taken her hands, in the centre of the 
vast room, the great luxury of which put her at her 
ease and seemed the natural m.edium for her grace to 
bloom in. And both of them were silent for an instant. 
Then, she again spoke. 

“So it is settled? ” 

“What?” demanded he, smiling. 

“ Our marriage.” 

He hesitated for a second. His exceedingly white 
face had suddenly colored. This made her uneasy. 

“Have I made you angry?” 

But already he had grasped her hands, with an em- 
brace which enveloped her bodily. 


LE R^VE. * 


1:97 


‘‘It is settled. Yon have only to desire a thing to 
have it done, despite the obstacles. I live but for one 
purpose — to obey you/’ 

Then, she grew radiant. 

“We will marry, we will always love each other and 
we will never separate more.” 

She did not doubt that this would be accomplished on 
the morrow, with the ease of the miracles of the Le- 
gend. The idea of the smallest impediment, of the 
least delay did not even occur to her. Why, since they 
loved each other, should they be separated any longer? 
People adore each other, get married and it is very sim- 
ple. She was filled with a great tranquil joy. 

“It is settled ; tap me in the hand,” she resumed, 
jokingly. 

He bore the little hand to his lips. 

“It is settled.” 

And, as she was about departing, afraid of being sur- 
prised by the dawn, in haste also to have done with her 
secret, he wished to accompany her back. 

“ No, no, we should not arrive before day. I will find 
my road very well. Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye.” 

Felicien obeyed, contented himself with watching 
Ang^lique depart, and she ran beneath the sombre elms, 
she ran along the Chevrotte bathed with light. Al- 
ready she had cleared the grating of the park, then had 
started across the high grass of the Clos-Marie. As she 
ran, she thought that she could never be patient until 
sunrise, that the best course was to knock at the Hu« 
borts’ door in order to awaken them and tell them all. 


198 


LE REVE. 


It was an expansion of happiness, a revolt of frankness : 
she felt herself incapable of keeping for five minutes 
longer that secret kept for so long. She entered the 
garden and shut the gate. 

And there, against the cathedral, Angelique perceived 
Hubertine, who was waiting for her in the darkness, 
seated upon the stone bench, which a thin clamp of 
lilacs surrounded. Awakened, warned by an anguish, 
the latter had gone up-stairs, had understood on finding 
the doors open. And, anxious, not knowing where to go, 
fearing to aggravate matters, she was waiting. 

Angelique at once cast herself upon her neck, with- 
out confusion, her heart bounding with joy, laughing 
gayly at no longer having anything to conceal. 

“Ah! mother, it is settled. We are going to get 
married and I am so happy!” 

Before replying, Hubertine examined her fixedly. But 
her fears subsided before that innocence in bloom, those 
limpid eyes and those pure lips. Only a great deal of 
grief remained; tears flowed down her cheeks. 

“My poor child!” murmured she, as in the church 
the preceding evening. 

Angelique, surprised to see her thus, she, so well-bal- 
anced, who never wept, exclaimed : 

“ What, mother, you worrying yourself? It is true 
that I have behaved rashly, that I have had a secret 
from you. But if you only knew how heavily it has 
weighed upon me ! One does not speak at first, after- 
wards one dare not. You must pardon me.” 

She had sat down beside her and passed a caressing 
arm about her waist. The old bench seemed sunken 


LE r£vE, 


199 


into that mossy corner of the cathedral. Above their 
heads, the lilacs made a shade; and there was that 
eglantine which the young girl had cultivated to see if 
it would not bear roses ; but, neglected for some time, it 
had vegetated, it had returned to the wild state. 

Mother, I will whisper everything in your ear.” 

In a low voice, then, she related to her their love affair 
in an inexhaustible flow of words, reviving the slightest 
facts, growing animated in reviving them. She omitted 
nothing, searched her memory as if for a confession. 
And she was not embarrassed by it ; the blood of pas- 
sion warmed her cheeks and a flame of pride lighted her 
eyes, though she did not raise her whispering and ardent 
voice. 

Hubertine at length interrupted her, also speaking in 
a low tone. 

“ Come, come, what a strain you are on ! It is in vain 
that you correct yourself, every time you are borne away 
as if by a great gale. Ah! proud one, ah! passionate 
one, you are still the little girl who refused to scrub up 
the kitchen and who kissed her hands,” 

Angelique could not prevent herself from laughing. 

“ No, do not laugh ; soon you will not have enough 
tears to shed. This marriage will never take place, my 
poor child.” 

At once her gayety broke forth, sonorous and pro- 
longed. 

“ Mother, mother, what are you saying ? It is to tease 
me or to punish me? It is so simple! This evening, 
he will talk about the matter with his father. To-mor- 
row, he will come to arrange everything with you.” 


200 


LE REVE. 


Did slie really imagine that? Hubertine was forced 
to be pitiless. A little embroiderer, without money, 
without name, wed Felicien d’Hautecoeur ! — a young 
man worth fifty millions 1 — the last descendant of one of 
the oldest houses of France ! 

But, at each new obstacle, Angelique replied, tran- 
quilly : 

“ Why not ? ” 

It would be a real scandal, a marriage outside of the 
ordinary conditions of happiness. Everything arose to 
prevent it. Did she, then, count* upon struggling against 
everything ? 

“ Why not ? 

Monseigneur was said to be proud of his name, severe 
against the tendernesses of adventure. Could she hope 
to bend him ? 

“ Why not ? ” 

And, firm in her faith : 

“ It is funny, mother, how wicked you believe the 
world ! I tell you that things will move along well ! 
Two months ago, you scolded me, you bantered me, 
remember, and yet I was right! — all that I announced has 
been realized,” 

“ But, unhappy girl, await the end 1 ” 

Hubertine grieved, tormented by her remorse for hav- 
ing left Angdlique so ignorant. She would have liked 
to tell her the hard lessons of reality, to enlighten her as 
to the cruelties, the abominations of the world, but was 
seized with embarrassment and could not find the neces- 
sary Avords. What sorrow, if, one day, she had to accuse 
herself of having caused the misfortuue of this child, 


LE rSvE. 


201 


reared thus as a recluse, in the continual falsehood of a 
dream ! 

“See here, my darling, you would not, however, wed 
this young man in spite of all of us, in spite of his 
father? ” 

Angelique gre^v serious, looked her in the face and 
then said, in a grave tone; 

“ Why not? I love him and he loves me.” 

Her mother again took her in both arms and drew 
her against her; and she also looked at her, without yet 
speaking, trembling. The veiled moon had sunk behind 
the cathedral, and the flying mists had turned a faint 
pink in the sky at the approach of day. Both of them 
bathed in this early purity, in the great cool silence, 
which the awakening of the birds alone troubled with 
little cries. 

“ Oh ! my child, only duty and obedience cause happi- 
ness. One suffers all one’s life for an hour of passion and 
pride. If you wish to be happy, submit, renounce and 
vanish.” 

But she felt her rebel in her embrace, and that which 
she had never told her of, that which she hesitated still 
to tell her, escaped from her lips. 

“ Listen. You believe your father and myself happy. 
We should be so, if a torment had not spoiled our lives.” 

She lowered her voice further, she related to her in a 
trembling breath their history, the marriage in spite of 
her mother, the death of the child, the vain desire to 
have another, beneath the -punishment of the fault. 
Nevertheless, they adored each other, they had lived by 
toil, without needs ; and they were unhappy, they wohld 


202 


LE REVE. 


certainly have got to quarrelling, led a life of hell, per- 
il aj)S reached a violent separation, had it not been lor 
their efforts, her kindness to him and his consideration 
towards her. 

Be fleet, my child ; put nothing in your existence 
from which you may suffer later on. Be humble, obey, 
and silence the blood of your heart.” 

fldius attacked, Angelique listened to her, very pale, 
restraining her tears. 

“Mother, you give me pain. I love him and he loves 
me.” 

And her tears flowed. She was upset by the confi- 
dance, softened, with a scared look in her eyes, as if 
wounded by this corner of truth of which she had caught 
a glimpse. But she did not yield. She would have 
died so gladly of her love ! 

- Then, Ilubertine made her decision. 

“I did not wish to cause you so much pain at one 
time. Nevertheless, you must know. Last evening, 
when you had gone up-stairs, I questioned the Abbe 
Cornille ; I learned why Monseigneur, who resisted for 
so long, has deemed it his duty to summon his son to 
Beaumont. One of his great vexations was the passion 
of this young man, the eagerness he displayed to live 
outside of every rule. After having sadly renounced 
making a priest of him, he no longer even hoped to start 
him in some occupation suitable to his rank and fortune. 
ITe would never be anything but an impassioned fellow, 
a fool, an artist. He was frightened at seeing himself 
revived in him, in that madness of passion from which he 
had so cruelly suffered. And it was then that, fearing 


LE REVE. 


203 


some foolisliness of the heart, he brought him here in 
order to get him married immediately.” 

“Well? ” said Angelique, without yet understanding. 
“A marriage was projected even before his arrival, 
and everything seems now to be settled ; the Abbe 
Cornille formally told me that he was to wed Mademoi- 
selle Claire de Voincourt in the autumn. You know the 
hotel of the Voincourts there, near the bishop’s house. 
They are closely united with Monseigneur. On one side 
and the other, nothing better could be wished for, either 
as regards name or money. The abbe highly approves 
of this union.” 

The young girl no longer heard these plausible reasons. 
An image had suddenly been evoked before her eyes, 
that of Claire. She again saw her pass, such as she had 
seen her occasionally in the paths of her park in the 
winter, such as she had found her in the cathedral at the 
fetes : a tall, dark young lady, of her own age, very 
handsome, of a beauty more brilliant than hers, with a 
step of royal distinction. She was said to be exceedingly 
kind, despite her air of coldness. 

“ That tall young lady, so beautiful, so rich. He is 
going to marry her.” 

She murmured this as in a dream. Then, her heart 
was wrung and she cried : 

“So he lies! — he did not tell me that.” 

The recollection had returned to her of the brief hes- 
itation of Fdlicien, of the rush of blood which had pur- 
pled his cheeks when she had spoken to him of their 
marriage. The shock was so rough that her pale face 
glided upon her mother’s shoulder. 


204 : 


LE REVE. 


“ My pet, my dear pet. It is very cruel I know. 
But, if you waited, it would be yet more cruel. Then, 
instantly snatch the knife from the wound. Repeat 
to yourself, on each awakening of your pain, that Mon- 
seigneur, the terrible Jean XII., whose intractable 
haughtiness, it seems, the world yet recalls, would never 
give his son, the last of his race, to a little embroiderer, 
picked up beneath a doorway.” 

In her weakness, Angelique heard this and no longer 
rebelled. What had she felt pass over her face ? A cold 
breath, come from afar, above the roofs, froze her blood. 
Was it that misery of the world, that sad reality, which 
had been mentioned to her as the wolf is mentioned to 
unreasonable children ? She had still a pain from having 
been merely grazed by it. Already, however, she was 
excusing Felicien : he had not lied, he had simply remained 
mute. If his father had wished to marry him to that 
young girl, he, without doubt, had refused her. But he 
dare not yet enter into a struggle ; and, since he had said 
nothing, perhaps he was making his decision about it. 
Before this first blow, pale, touched by the rough finger 
of life, she still remained believing, had faith in her 
dream. The things would be realized, only her pride was 
humbled, she had fallen back into the humility of grace. 

“ Mother, it is true that I have sinned and I will sin 
no longer. I promise you that I will not rebel, to be 
that which Heaven wishes me to be.” 

It was the grace which had spoken; the victory 
remained with the surroundings amid which she had 
grown up, with the education which she had received 
there. Why should she doubt the morrow, since, until 


LE bSvE. 


205 


then, everything surrounding her had shown itself so 
generous and so tender towards her? She wished to 
preserve the wisdom of Catherine, the modesty of Eliza- 
beth and the chastity of Agnes, comforted by the support 
of the saints, certain that they alone would aid her to 
conquer. Would not her old friend, the cathedral, the 
Clos-Marie and the Chevrotte, the cool little house of 
the Huberts, the Huberts themselves, all that which she 
loved, defend her, without being compelled to act her- 
self, simply obedient and pure ? 

“ Then, you promise me that you will never do any- 
thing against our will, nor against Monseigneur? ” 

“ Yes, mother, I promise.” 

“You promise me never again to see this j^oung man 
and to think no more of the folly of marrying him ? ” 

There, her heart weakened. A final rebellion nearly 
broke out in her, crying her love. Then, she bent her 
head, definitively conquered. 

“ I promise to do nothing to see him again and to 
induce him to marry me.” 

Hubertine, greatly moved, clasped her desperately in 
her arms, in thankfulness for her obedience. Ah ! what 
misery to desire the welfare of those one loves and yet 
make them suffer ! She was broken, she arose, sur- 
prised by the light which was increasing. The little 
cries of the birds had augmented, without a single one 
being seen to fly. In the sky, the mists had scattered. 

And Angelique, then, her glance having fallen 
mechanically upon her eglantine, at length perceived it, 
Avith its puny floAvers. She gave a sad laugh. 

“You were right, mother; it is not likely to bear roses.” 


206 


LE e£vE. 


CHAPTEE X. 

MONSEIGNEUR. 

I N tlie morning at seven o’clock, as usual, Angelique 
was at work; and tlie days followed eacli otlier, and 
every morning slie very calmly resumed tlie chasuble 
laid aside the evening before. Nothing seemed changed, 
she strictly kept her word, cloistered herself, without 
seeking to see Felicien again. This did not appear even 
to make her gloomy, she maintained her gay, youthful 
countenance, smiling at Hubertine when she surprised 
her with eyes fixed upon her in astonishment. Neverthe- 
less, in this willing silence, she thought only of him the 
entire day. Her hope remained invincible, she was cer- 
tain that everything would be realized in spite of all. 
And it was this certitude which gave her great air of 
courage, so sincere and so proud. 

Hubert, sometimes, scolded her. 

“You work too much, I see you are a trifle pale. Do 
5'Ou sleep well ? ” 

“Oh ! father, like a log! I have never been in better 
health.” 

But Hubertine, in her turn, grew uneasy and spoke of 
taking some amusement. 

“If you like, we will shut up the house and all three 
make a trip to Paris.” 

“Ah! indeed! and the orders, mother? I tell you that 
my health comes from hard work!” 


LE e£vE. 


207 


In fact, Angclique was simply awaiting a miracle, some 
manifestation of the invisible, which would give her to 
lYdicien. Setting aside her promise to attempt nothing, 
Avdiat was the good of acting, since the beyond always 
acted for her? Therefore, in her voluntary inertia, 
Avhile feigning indifference, she kept a continually atten- 
tive ear, listening to the voices, to that which quivered 
about her, to the familiar little sounds of the circle in 
Avhich she lived and which was going to aid her. Some- 
thing surely would be compelled to happen. Bent over 
her frame, the window open, she did not let a quiver of 
the trees, a murmur of the Chevrotte, escape her. The 
slightest sighs from the cathedral reached her, increased 
tenfold by attention: she heard everything, even to the 
slippered tread of the beadle, extinguishing the wax can- 
dles. Again, beside her, she felt the grazing of mysteri- 
ous wings, she knew that she was assisted by the 
unknown; and sometimes she turned suddenly, believ- 
ing that a shade had murmured a means of victory in 
her ear. But the days passed and still nothing came. 

At night, that she might not be false to her oath, 
Angelique at first avoided going upon the balcony, 
afraid of rejoining Felicien should she perceive him 
below. She Avaited in the depths of her chamber. Then, 
as the leaves themselves did not stir, asleep, she took the 
risk, she recommenced to question the darkness. From. 
Avhence Avould the miracle spring? Without doubt, 
from the garden of the bishop’s house a flaming hand 
would beckon her to come. Perhaps from the cathe- 
dral, where the organs Avould thunder and summon her to 
the altar. Nothing would have surprised her, neither the 


208 


LE REVE. 


doves of the Legend, bringing words of benediction, nor 
the intervention of the female saints, entering through 
the walls to announce to her that Monseigneur wished 
to see her. And but one thing astonished her — the 
slowness of the prodigy to operate. Like the days, the 
nights succeeded the nights, but still nothing, nothing 
whatever appeared. 

After the second week, what astonished Ang^lique 
yet more was that she had not seen Felicien again. She 
had, indeed, entered into the engagement to attempt 
nothing to get near to him ; but, without saying it, she 
had counted that he would do everything to get near to 
her; and the Clos-Marie remained empty, he no more 
even crossed the wild grass. Not once in fifteen days, 
during the hours of night, had she perceived his shadow. 
This did not shake her faith ; if he did not come, it was 
because he was looking after their welfare. Nevertheless, 
her surprise was increasing, mingled with a commence- 
ment of uneasiness. 

Finally, one evening, the dinner was gloomy at the 
embroiderers’, and as Hubert went out under the pre- 
text of a pressing errand, Hubertine was left alone with 
Angelique in the kitchen. For a long while she looked 
at her with humid eyes, affected by her stout courage. 
During the fifteen days that they had said not a word 
of the matters with which their hearts were overflow- 
ing, she had been touched by her strength and loyalty 
in keeping her oath. A sudden fit of tenderness made 
her open both her arms; the young girl cast herself 
upon her bosom and they mutely embraced. 

Then, when Hubertine could speak, she said; 


LE rSvE. 


.209 


“All ! my poor cliild, I Lave waited to be alone with 
you; it is imperative for you to know. All is ended, 
wholly ended.” 

Bewildered, Ang^lique drew herself up, crying: 

“Felicien is dead!” 

“No, no.” 

If he does not come, it is because he is dead! 

And Ilubertine was forced to explain that, on the day 
after the procession, she had seen him in order to exact 
also from him the oath to appear no more while he had 
not Monseigneur’s authorization. It was a definitive 
dismissal, for she knew that the marriage was impossi- 
ble. She had upset him by showing him his evil action, 
that poor, confiding girl, ignorant of everything, whom 
he was injuring, without the ability one day to marry 
her; and he also had cried out that he would die of 
grief from not seeing her again rather than be disloyal. 
That very evening he made his confession to his father. 

“See,” resumed Ilubertine, “you have so much cour- 
age that I speak to you without circumlocution. Ah 1 
if you knew, pet, how I have pitied and admired you 
since I have beheld you so proud, so brave as to keep silent 
and be gay when your heart was breaking. But you 
will need more courage, a great deal more. I met the 
Abbe Cornille this afternoon. All is ended. Monseigneur 
will not have it.” 

She had expected a burst of tears, and was aston- 
ished to see her reseat ' herself, very pale, but with a 
tranquil air. The old oaken table had just been cleared, 
a lamp lighted the antique common room, the silence 
of which was broken only by the hum of the boiler. 

13 


210 


LE REVE. 


“ Mother, nothing is ended. Eelate to me what yon 
learned. I have the right to be informed, have I not, 
since the matter concerns me ? ” 

And she listened attentively to what Hubertine 
thought she could tell her of the information she had 
obtained from the abbd, skipping certain details, con- 
tinuing to conceal life from the ignorant girl. 

Since he had summoned his son to him. Monseigneur 
had lived in trouble. After having removed him from 
his presence, on the day succeeding the death of his 
wife, and remained twenty years without consenting to 
know him, he beheld him in the strength and flush of 
youth, the living portrait of her for whom he wept, pos- 
sessing her soul, the blonde grace of her beauty. That 
long exile, that animosity against the child who had 
cost him the mother, was also a measure of prudence : 
he felt it now and regretted that he had changed his 
decision. Age, twenty years of prayers, God in his 
bosom, nothing had killed the former man. And it suf- 
ficed that this son of his flesh, this flesh of the adored 
wife arose, with the laughter of his blue, eyes, to make 
his heart beat as if to burst, in the belief that the dead 
woman was resuscitated. He struck his breast with his 
fist and sobbed in inefficacious penitence, exclaiming 
that the priesthood should be forbidden to those who 
have been married and have preserved ties of blood 
from wedlock. 

The good Abbd Cornille had spoken of this to 
Hubertine in a very low tone and with trembling hands. 
Mysterious rumors were in circulation, it was whispered 
that Monseigneur shut himself up when twilight came 


LE nfeVE. 


211 


on; and tliere were nights of combat, of tears and of 
groans, the violence of which, stifled by the hangings, 
terrified the bishop’s house. He believed he had for- 
gotten, tamed his passion ; but it had sprung up again 
with the fury of a tempest in the terrible man he for- 
merly was, the man of adventure, the descendant of the 
legendary captains. Every evening, upon his knees, his 
skin torn by a hair shirt, he strove to drive away the 
phantom of the regretted wife, evoked from the coffin 
the dust which she must now be. And it was living 
that she arose, in her delicious freshness of a flower, 
such as he had loved her, wholly young, with the mad 
love of a man already mature. The torture recom- 
menced, as fearful as on the day after her death ; he 
wept for her, he wished for her, with the same revolt 
against God, who had taken her from him ; he grew 
calm only at dawn, exhausted, feeling contempt for him- 
self and disgust for the world. Ah I passion, that evil 
thing, which he would like to crush in order to fall back 
into the annihilating peace of divine love ! 

Monseigneur, when he emerged from his chamber, 
had recovered his severe attitude, his calm and haughty 
face, hardly whitened by a remnant of pallor. When 
Felicien had made his confession, he had listened to him 
without a word, controlling himself with such an effort 
that not a fibre of his flesh quivered. He had looked at 
him, his heart wrung to see him so youthful, so hand- 
some and so ardent, to behold himself again in that 
madness of love. It was no longer animosity, it was the 
absolute wish, the rough duty to withdraw him from the 
evil from which he himself had suffered so much. He 


212 


I.E REVE. 


would kill passion in his son as he desired to kill it 
in himself. This romantic tale completed his anguish. 
What! a poor girl, a girl without a name, a little 

embroiderer perceived beneath a ray of moonlight, 

« 

transfigured into a slender virgin of tlie Legend, adored- 
with a mad love in a dream! And he bad finally 
answered with a single word; “Never!” Felicien had 
cast himself at his knees, imploring him, pleading his 
cause and that of Angelique in a quiver of respect and 
terror. Until then he had not approached him without 
trembling; he supplicated him not to oppose his happi- 
ness, without even yet daring to raise his eyes to his 
holy person. In a submissive voice he offered to disap- 
pear, to take his wife so far away that they would never 
be seen again, to abandon his great fortune to the 
Church. He wished only to be loved and love, unknown. 
A quiver, then, had shaken [Monseigneur. His word 
was pledged to the Voincourts, never would he take it 
back. And Felicien, exhausted, feeling rage coming 
• upon him, had gone away, afraid of the rush of blood 
which had empurpled his cheeks and which urged him 
to the sacrilege of an open rebellion. 

“ My child,” concluded Hubertine, “ you see clearly 
that you must think no more of that young man, for 
you, doubtless, do not count on acting against Monseig- 
neur’s will. I foresaw all this. But I prefer that the 
facts shall speak and that the obstacle shall not come 
from me.” 

Angelique had listened with her tranquil air, her 
hands fallen and clasped upon her knees. Scarcely had 
her eyelids quivered now and then, her fixed glances 


LE REVE. 


213 


bell eld the scene, Felicien at Monseigneur’s feet, speak- 
ing of her in an overflow of tenderness. She did not 
answer at once, she continued to reflect amid the dead 
calm of the kitchen, in which the little hum of the 
boiler had died away. She lowered her eyelids, she 
looked at her hands which the light of the lamp made 
beautiful ivory. Then, while her smile of invincible 
confidence remounted to her lips, she merely said : 

“ If Monseigneur refuses, it is because he is waiting 
to become acquainted with me.” 

That night Angelique slept but little. The idea 
that the sight of her would decide Monseigneur 
haunted her. And there was no woman’s personal van- 
ity in this, she felt that love was all-powerful, she loved 
Felicien so much that it would certainly be seen and tlie 
father could not persist in making them miserable. 
Twenty times she turned in her huge bed, repeating 
these things to herself. Monseigneur passed before her 
closed eyes, with his violet robe. Perhaps it was 
through him and by him that the expected miracle 
would be worked. The warm night slept without, she 
lent an ear to listen to the voices, to try to surprise the 
advice given her by the trees, the Chevrotte, the cathe- 
dral, her chamber itself, peopled by friendly shades. 
But everything hummed, nothing precise reached lier. 
She grew impatient at the too tardy certitude. And, as 
she fell asleep, she surprised herself saying : 

“ To-morrow, I will speak to Monseigneur.” 

When she awoke, her step appeared to her very sim- 
ple and necessary. Hers was an ingenuous and brave 
passion, a great, proud purity in bravery. 


214 


LE rSvE. 


She knew that, every Saturday, towards five o’clock 
in tbe evening, Monseigneur went to kneel in the Hau- 
tecoeur Chapel, where he loved to pray in solitude, 
plunged in the past of his race and of himself, seeking 
isolation respected by his entire clergy ; and it happened 
to be Saturday. She quickly made a decision. At the 
bishop’s house, perhaps, she would not be received; be- 
sides, people were always there, she would be troubled ; 
while it was so easy to wait in the chapel and tell Mon- 
seigneur her name as soon as he should appear. That 
day, she embroidered with her accustomed application 
and serenity: she had no excitement, resolute in her 
will, certain that she was doing right. Then, at four 
o’clock, she spoke of going to see M^re Gabet, she went 
out, clad as for her walks in the vicinit}^, wearing a sim- 
ple garden hat, tied by careless fingers. She turned to 
the left and pushed open the padded door, which, with 
a dull sound, fell back behind her. 

The church was empty, a confessional of the Saint 
Joseph Chapel alone was yet occupied by a female peni- 
tent of whom only the black skirt was visible ; and An- 
gelique, very calm until then, began to tremble on enter- 
ing that sacred and cold solitude, where the slight noise 
of her footsteps appeared to her to resound terribl3^ 
Why was her heart thus oppressed ? She had believed 
herself so strong, she had passed such a tranquil day in 
the idea of her perfect right to wish to be happy ! And 
now she no longer knew anything, she grew pale like a 
guilty creature! She glided as far as the Hautecoeur 
Chapel and there was forced to support herself against 
the grating. 


LE RKVE. 


215 


This chapel was one of the most buried, one of the 
most sombre of the antique Twelfth Century arch. Like 
a cavern cut in the rock, narrow and bare, with the sim- 
ple raised mouldings of its low vault, it was lighted only 
by the stained glass window, the legend of Saint George, 
in which the red and blue glasses, dominating, made a 
lilac, crepuscular illumination. The altar, in white and 
black marble, devoid of ornament, with its Christ and 
its double pairs of candlesticks, resembled a sepulchre. 
And the remainder of the walls was covered with tomb- 
stones, a whole imbedding from top to bottom of stones 
gnawed by age, upon which the inscriptions in deep let- 
ters could yet be red. 

Stifling, Angelique awaited, ' motionless. A beadle 
passed, who did not even see her, clinging to the interior 
of that grating. She still perceived the skirt of the 
penitent overflowing from the confessional. Her eyes, 
habituated to the half-light, fixed themselves mechan- 
ically upon the inscriptions, the characters of which she 
finally deciphered. ' Names struck her, awoke in her the 
leorends of the Chateau d’ Hautecoeur, Jean V., the Great, 
Raoul III., Herve YII. She encountered two others, 
those of Laurette and Balbine, which moved her to tears 
in her trouble. They were those of the Happy Dead, 
Laurette fallen from a ray of moonlight on going to 
rejoin her betrothed, Balbine slain with joy by the 
return of her husband, whom she had believed killed in 
the war, both of them coming back at night, enveloping 
the Chateau with the white flight of their immense 
robes. Had she not seen them, on the day of her visit 
to the ruins, floating above the towers, amid the pale 


216 


LE rSve. 


aslien twilight ? Ah ! she would have willingly died 
like them, at sixteen, in the supreme happiness of her 
realized dream ! 

A tremendous noise, sent back beneath the vaults, 
made her start. It was the priest who had. come out of 
the confessional of tbe Saint Joseph Chapel and had shut 
the door after him. She experienced surprise on missing 
the penitent, who had already vanished. Then, when 
the priest, in his turn, had gone into the sacristy, she felt 
herself absolutely alone in the vast solitude of the 
church. At that thunderinsy noise of the old confessional 

O 

cracking in its rusty ironwork, she had believed that 
Monseigneur was approaching. She had been waiting 
for him nearly half an hour and had not realized it, her 
emotion had borne away the minutes. 

But a new name arrested her eyes, Fdlicien III., the 
one who went to Palestine, with a wax candle in his 
hand, to fulfil a vow of Philippe le Bel. And her heart 
tl lumped, she saw arise the youthful head of Felicien 
VII., the descendant of all of them, 'the blonde seigneur 
whom she adored and by whom she was adored. She 
was bewildered by pride and fear. Was it possible that 
slie was there for the accomplishment of the prodigy? 
In front of her was a more recent slab of marble, dating 
from the last centurj^, upon which she easily read, in 
black letters : Norbert, Louis, Ogier, Marquis d’Hau- 

tecoeur, Prince de Mirande and de Eouvres, Comte de 
Ferri^res, de Montegu, de Saint-Marc and also de Ville- 
mareuil, Baron de Combeville, Chevalier of the four 
orders of the king. Lieutenant of his armies. Governor of 
Normandy and incumbent of the post of Captain Gen- 


217 


LE RfiVE. 

eral of the Deer Hunt and of the Equipage of the Wild 
Boar. They were the titles of Felicien’s grandfather; 
she had come, so common, with her workgirl’s dress, her 
fingers pricked by the needle, to wed the grandson of 
that dead man. 

Til ere was a slight sound, scarcely a touch upon the 
slabs of the floor. She. turned and saw Monseigneur, 
and was amazed at his silent approach, without the 
crash of thunder which she had expected. He had 
entered the chapel, very tall, very noble, clad wholly in 
violet, with his pale face, somewhat large nose and 
superb still youthful eyes. At first, he did not perceive 
her, against that black grating. Then, as he bent 
towards the altar, he found her in front of him, at his 
feet. 

With bending limbs, overwhelmed by respect and ter- 
ror, Angdlique had sunk upon both knees. He appeared 
to her like God the Father, terrible, the absolute mas- 
ter of her destiny. But she had a courageous heart, she 
spoke immediately. 

“ Oh ! Monseigneur, I have come ” 

He drew himself up. He vaguely remembered her: 
the young girl he had noticed at her window on the day 
of the procession, whom he had again seen in the church, 
standing upon a chair, that little embroiderer about 
whom his son was wild. He uttered not a word, made 
not a gesture. Lofty and rigid, he waited. 

“Oh! Monseigneur, I have come that you might see 
me. You have refused me, but you did not know me. 
And behold me,' look at me before repulsing me again. 
I am she who loves and is belovedj and nothing else 


218 


LE rIivE. 


nothing outside of that love, nothing but a poor child, 
picked up at the door of this church. You see me at 
your feet — how insignificant, weak and humble I am. 
It will be easy for you to put me aside, if I embarrass 
you. You have but to lift a finger to destroy me. But 
how many tears I have shed! What one sufiers must 
be known. Then, people are full of pity. I have decided, 
in my turn, to defend my cause. Monseigneur. 1 am an 
ignorant girl, I only know that I love and am loved. 
Does not that suffice — to love, to love and to sav so!” 

And she continued in broken and panting phrases, she 
confessed everything in a burst of frankness, of growing 
passion. It was love speaking. She dared to do this 
because she was pure. Little by little, she had raised 
her head. 

“We love each other, Monseigneur. He, no doubt, 
has explained to you how that happened. I have often 
asked myself the question without succeeding in answer- 
ing it. We love each other, and, if it is a crime, pardon 
it, for it came from afar, from the very trees and stones 
which surrounded us; When I knew that I loved him, 
it was too late to love him no longer. Now, is it possi- 
ble to condemn that? You can keep him away from 
me, marry him to some one else, but you cannot prevent 
him from loving me. He will die without me, as I will 
die without him. When he is not beside me, I plainly 
feel that he is there }^et, that we no longer separate, that 
one bears away the heart of the other. I have but to 
close my eyes to see him again, he is one with me. 
There is not a drop of our blood which is not thus min- 
gled for life. And you would tear us from that union ? 


LE r£vE. 


219 


Monseigneur, it is divine — do not prevent us from loving 
each other.” 

lie looked at her, so fresh, so simple, of the odor of 
a bouquet, in her little workgirl’s dress. He heard her 
tell the tale of her love in a voice of ^ troubling sweet- 
ness, gradually growing firmer. But the garden hat 
slipped upon her shoulders, her hair of light glorified her 
visage with fine gold ; and she seemed to him like one 
of those legendary virgins of the ancient missals, with 
something faint, primitive, devoutly rapturous in passion, 
something passionately pure. 

“ Be kind, Monseigneur. You are the master, make us 
happy.” 

She implored him, again bent her forehead, on behold- 
ing him so cold, still without a word, without a gesture. 
Ah 1 that bewildered child at his feet, that odor of youth 
which exhaled from the nape of her neck bent before 
him ! There, he again saw the little blonde locks, so 
madly kissed in the past. She whose remembrance was 
torturing him, after twenty years of penitence, had that 
odorous youth, that neck of the pride and grace of the 
lily. She was born again, it was she who was sobbing 
there, who was fervently supplicating him to be tender 
to passion. 

The tears had come; nevertheless, Angelique contin- 
ued, wishing to tell everything. 

And, Monseigneur, it is not he alone that I love, I 
love besides the nobility of his name, the splendor of 
his royal fortune. Yes, I know that, being nothing, 
possessing nothing, I have the air of wanting him for 
his money ; and it is tme. it is also for his money that I 


220 


LE rSvE. 


want him. I tell you this, since it is necessary that you 
should know me. Ah ! to become rich through him, 
with him, to live in the sweetness and splendor of lux- 
ury, to owe him all the joys, to be free in our love, no 
longer to leave tears and poverty around us! Since he 
has loved me, I have seen myself clad in brocade as in 
the old times ; I have had about my neck, on my wrists, 
masses of gems and pearls ; I have had horses, car- 
riages, vast groves in which to promenade on foot, 
followed by pages. Never do I think of him without 
recommencing this dream ; and I say to myself that this 
ought to be, he has fulfilled my desire to be a queen. 
Monseigneur, is it then base to love him, more because 
he will realize all my childish wishes, the miraculous 
showers of gold of the fairy tales, of which I have read 
so much ? ” 

He beheld her drawn up proudly, with her charming 
grand air of a princess, in her simplicity. And it was, 
indeed, the other, the same delicacy of a flower, the 
same tender tears, as bright as smiles. An intoxi- 
cating influence emanated from her, the warm quiver 
of which he felt mount to his face, that same quiver so 
strongly remembered which cast him, at night, sobbing 
upon his praying cushion, troubling with his groans the 
religious silence of the bishop’s house. The day before, 
until three o’clock in the morning, he bad stru ogled : 
and this love aflair, this passion thus stirred up, irritated 
his incurable wound. But, behind his impassibility, 
nothing appeared, nothing betra^^ed the eflbrt of the 
strife to tame the throbbing of his heart. If he lost his 
blood drop by drop, no person saw it flow: he was 


LE ' REVE. 


221 


only paler, sterner, and more persistently silent because 
of it. 

Then, this stern, obstinate silence filled Angelique with 
despair; she redoubled her supplications. 

“I put myself in your hands. Monseigneur. Have 
pity, decide my fate.” 

And yet he did not speak, he terrified her, as if he 
had grown taller before her, of a formidable majesty. 
The deserted cathedral, with its already sombre lateral 
naves and its lofty arches where the light was fading 
increased still more the anguish of waiting. Tn the 
chapel even the tombstones could no longer be distin- 
guished, he alone remained, with his violet soutane, 
become dark, his long white face the only object which 
seemed to have kept the light. She saw his eyes glis- 
ten, fasten themselves upon her with a growing bril- 
liancy. Was it anger which was brightening them in 
that manner? 

“Monseigneur, if I had not come, I should have eter- 
nally reproached myself with having caused our misfor- 
tune from lack of courage. Say, I entreat you, say that 
I have done right, that you consent.” 

What was the good of arguing with that child? He 
had given his son the reasons for his refusal, that was 
sufficient. If he did not speak it was because he 
believed that he had nothing to say. She understood 
this without doubt, she strove to raise herself to his 
hands to kiss them. But he violently thrust them 
behind him; and she grew frightened on noticing that 
his pale face had become empurpled with a sudden rush 
of blood. 


222 


LE REVE. 


“ Monseigneur — Monseigneur ! ” 

At last, he opened his lips, he said to her a simple 
word, the word cast at his sou : 

“Never!” 

And, without even making his devotions that day, he 
departed. His solemn footsteps were lost behind the 
pillars of the arch. 

Ang^lique fell upon the slabs of the floor and wept 
for a long while, with great sobs, amid the immense 
silence of the empty church. 


10 


LE REVE. 


223 


CHAPTER XL 
angelique’s despair. 

T hat evening, in tlie kitchen, on quitting table, 
Angelique confessed to the Huberts, told them of 
her interview with the bishop and the latters refusal. 
She was excessively pale, but very calm. 

Hubert was upset. What! his dear child was suffer- 
ing already 1 She also was stricken to the heart ! His 
eyes filled with tears in his passionate sympathy with 
her, that excitement of the beyond which carried them 
off so easily together at the slightest breath. 

“Ah! my poor dear, why did you not consult me? I 
would have gone with you and perhaps would have bent 
Monseigneur.” 

With a look'Hubertine silenced him. He was really 
unreasonable. Was it not better to seize the occasion 
to bury this impossible marriage? She took the young 
girl in her arms and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. 
“Then, it’s done with, pet, entirely done with?” 
Angelique, at first, did not seem to understand. Then, 
the words returned to her from afar. She looked 
straight in front of her, as if she had interrogated space, 
and replied: 

“Without doubt, mother.” 

In fact, the next day, slie seated herself at her frame 
and embroidered with her habitual air. Her former life 
was resumed and she did not appear to suffer. Besides, 


224 


LE reve: 


slie made no allusion, did not cast a glance towards tlie 
window and scarcely kept a remnant of pallor. The 
sacrifice seemed accomplished. 

Hubert himself believed so, yielded to Hubertine’s 
wisdom and strove to keep away Felicien, wdio, not yet 
daring to rebel against his father, grew so excited as not 
to observe the promise he had made to wait, without 
trying to see Angelique again. He wrote to her and the 
letters were intercepted. He presented himself one 
morning, and it was Hubert who received him. The 
explanation distressed them equally, such pain did the 
young man show when the embroiderer told him of 
his daughter’s growing calmness, at the same time 
begging him to be loyal and disappear in order not to 
throw her back into the frightful trouble of the last 
month. Felicien bound himself anew to be patient, but 
violently refused to take back his word : he still hoped 
to convince his father. He would wait, he would leave 
things as they were with the Voincourts, with whom he 
dined twice a week, his sole aim being to avoid an open 
rebellion. And, as he was going away, he supplicated 
Hubert to explain to Angelique why he consented to the 
torment of not seeing her: he thought only of her, all 
his acts had no other design than to win her. 

Hubertine, when her husband reported this interview 
to herj grew grave. Then, after a period of silence, she 
asked : 

“ Will you repeat to the child what he has charged 
you to tell her? ” 

“ I ought to do so.” 

She looked at him fixedly a^d then declared , 


LE REVE. 


225 


“Act according to your conscience. But lie deceives 
Liniself : in the end lie will yield to bis father’s will and 
that will kill our poor dear little girl.” 

Hubert, thus opposed, full of ..anguish, liesitated and 
tlien resigned himself to repeat nothing. Besides, he 
daily grew a little reassured when his wife called his 
attention to Angelique’s tranquil attitude. 

“You see that the wound is closing. She is forget- 
ting.” 

She was not forgetting, she was simply waiting. All 
human hope was dead and she had returned to the idea 
of a prodigy. One would surely be produced, if God 
desired her to be happy. She had onl^^ to abandon her- 
self in His hands; she believed herself punished by this 
new trial for having essayed to force His will by im- 
portuning Monseigneur. Without the grace, the creature 
was weak, incapable of victory. Her need of the grace 
brought her back to humilitj’’, to the only hope of aid 
•from the invisible, no longer acting, leaving action to the 
mysterious forces scattered around her. She recom- 
menced, every evening, beneath tlie lamp, to read her 
antique copy of “ The Golden Legend ; ” she was de- 
lio;hted with it, as in the innocence of her childhood, and 
did not doubt a single miracle, convinced that the power 
of the unknown is without limit for the triumph of pure 
souls. 

Just at this time the upholsterer of the cathedral gave 
the Huberts an order for a pannel of very rich embroi- 
dery for Monv^eigneur’s episcopal chair. This pannel, a 
rn^tre and a half wide and three in height, was to be 
enframed in the woodwork of ihe'back and to contain a‘ 
14 


226 


LE KEVE. 


representation of two angels of natural size, holding a 
crown, beneath which was to be the coat-of-arms of the 
llautecceurs; It necessitated embroidery in bas-relief, 
work which demands much art and a great expenditure 
of physical strength. The Huberts, at first, had refused, 
afraid of fatiguing Angelique and, above all, of sadden- 
ing her by causing her to embroider that coat-of-arms, 
over which, thread by thread, for weeks, she would 
revive lier remembrances. But she had angrily 

insisted upon filling the order, and every morning she 
resumed work on the pannel with extraordinary energy. 
It seemed that she was delighted to weary herself, that 
she had need of bruising her body in order to be calm. 

And the life in the antique work-room continued, 
always the same and regular, as if the hearts there had 
not for a moment beaten more rapidly than ^usual. 
While Hubert busied himself with the frames, designed, 
stretched and loosened, Hubertine aided Angelique, both 
of them having bruised fingers when evening came on.. 
For the angels and ornaments it had been necessary to 
divide each subject into several parts, Avhich were 
treated separately. Angelique, in order to represent the 
great projections, guided with a knitting-needle heavy 
ecru threads, which she covered in an opposite direction 
with Bretagne threads; and, gradually, using a menne- 
lourd as well as a hatchel, slie shaped those threads, 
made the draperies of the angels stand out and detached 
the details of the ornaments. It was a real work of 
sculpture. Afterwards, when the form was obtained, 
Hubertine and she cast on threads of gold, which they 
sewed with osier splints. It was wholly a golden has- 


227 


LE r£vE. 

relief, of an incomparable softness and brilliancy, shi- 
ning like a sun in the midst of the smoked apartment. 
The old implements were arranged in their ancient 
order, the nipping- tools, punches, mallets and hammers ; 
over the frames trotted the bourriquet and the pat6, the 
thimbles and the needles ; and, in the depths of the 
corners where they were rusting, the diligent, the hand 
spinning wheel and the reel with its winches appeared to 
be slumbering, drowsy in the great quietude which came 
in through the open windows. 

Days elapsed. Angelique broke needles from morning 
till evening, so difficult was it to sew the gold through 
the thickness of the waxed threads. She seemed wholly 
absorbed, body and mind, by this heavy work, to the 
point of no longer thinking. At nine o’clock, she was 
overcome with fatigue, went to bed and slept a leaden 
sleep. When toil left her brain free for a minute, she 
was astonished at not seeing Fclicien. If she did noth- 
ing to meet him, she thought that he ought to surmount 
everything to get to her. But she commended him for 
displaying such wisdom, she would have scolded him 
had he wished to hasten matters. Without doubt, he also 
was waiting for the prodigy. It was the sole expecta- 
tion in which she now lived, hoping every evening that 
it would be realized on the morrow. She had not 
rebelled until then. Sometimes, however, she had 
raised her head: what, nothing yet? And she strongly 
drove in her needle, which made her little hands bleed. 
Often, she was forced to draw it out with the pincers. 
When the needle broke, with the hollow sound of crack- 
ing glass, she did not even show impatience. 


228 


LE ' REVE. 


Ilubertine grew uneas}^ at seeing lier so eagerly bent 
upon her work, and, as the time for the lye washing had 
arrived, she compelled her to quit tlie pannel of em- 
broidery that she might spend lour good days of active- 
life beneath the glowing sunlight. Mere Gabet, whose 
pains had given her a respite, was able to assist in 
the soaping and rinsing. It was a jollification in the 
Clos-Marie; that close of August had an admirable 
splendor, an ardent sky and dark shadows ; while a 
delicious coolness exhaled from the Chevrolte, the rapid 
waters of which were made icy by the shade of the 
willow's. And Angelique passed the first day very gavly, 
beating and plunging in the linen, enjoying the brook, 
the elms, the ruined mill and the gi*ass, all those friendly 
things, so full of memories. AVas it not there that she 
had become acquainted with Ftlicien, at first mysterious 
beneath the moonlight, then so adorably awkward the 
morning he had saved the fleeing camisole? Alter 
rinsing each piece, she could not avoid casting a glance 
tow^ards the grating of the bishop's house, miiled up in 
the past: she had passed through it one evening on his 
arm, perhaps he would suddenly open it to come for 1h r 
and lead her to his father’s knees. This hope knit 
enchantment to her rough work amid the splashes of 
the suds. 

But, the next day, as Mere Gabet brought the last 
wheelbarrow load of linen, which she spread out with 
Angelique, she interrupted her interminable chatter to 
say without evil intent : 

“ or course, you know that Monseigneur is going to 
marry oft* his son ? ” 


LE RfeVB. 


229 


The yoang girl, who was spreading a sheet, knelt in 
the grass, her heart sinking beneath the shock. 

“Yes, everybody is talking about it. Monseigneur’s 
son will wed Mademoiselle de Voincourt in the autumn. 
Everything was settled day before yesterday it appears.” 

She remained upon her knees, a flood of confused 
ideas buzzed in her head. The news did not surprise 
her, she felt that it was true. Her mother had warned 
her, she should have expected it. But, at that first 
moment, what entirely overwhelmed her was the thought 
that, trembling before his father, Felicien might marry 
the other, without loving her, some evening when he 
was wholly fagged out. Then, he would be lost to her, 
whom he adored. Never had she thought of that pos- 
sible weakness, she saw him yielding to duty, causing, 
in the name of obedience, their mutual misfortune. 
And, without stirring yet, her eyes turned towards the 
grating, rebellion at last broke out in her, the need of 
going to shake its bars, of opening it with her nails, of 
running to him and of sustaining him with her courage 
that he might not yield. 

She was surprised to hear herself reply to M^re 
Gabet, with the purely mechanical instinct of hiding 
her trouble. 

“ Ah ! it’s Mademoiselle Claire whom he is going 
to marry. She is very beautiful and, they say, very 
good.” 

Surely, as soon as the old woman had gone, she would 
go to him. She had waited long enough, she would 
break her oath not to see him again as a troublesome 
obstacle. By what right did they separate them thus? 


230 


LE BEVK. 


Everything cried out her love to her, the cathedral, the 
cool water, the old elms amid which they had loved each 
other. Since their tenderness had sprung up there, it 
was there that she wished to get him back that she 
might flee, twined about his neck, very far away, so far 
that nevermore would they be found again. 

That’s all,” finally said M^re Gabet, as she hung the 
last napkins on a bush. In a couple of hours every- 
thing will be dry. Good-evening, Mademoiselle, since 
you have no further use for me.” 

Now, standing amid that bloom of linen, bright upon 
the green grass, Angelique thought of that other day 
when, in the high wind, while the sheets and table-cloths 
were flapping, their hearts had been so frankly given to 
each other. Why had he ceased to come to see her? 
Why was he not at this rendezvous, amid the healthy 
gayety of the lye wash ? But, presently, when she 
should hold him in her arms, she knew well enough that 
he would belong to her alone. She would not .even need 
to reproach him with his weakness, she had merely to 
appear before him and he would recover the will power 
necessary for their happiness. He would dare every- 
thing, she had only to rejoin him in an instant. 

An hour passed away, and Angelique was walking 
with slackened steps among the linen, all white herself, 
with the blinding reflection of the sun, and a confused 
voice had been raised within her, had swelled and had 
prevented her from going to the grating. She was 
frightened by this commencing struggle. What ! was 
there nothing in her but her will ? Another thing, 
which had been put there without doubt, opposed her 


LE KEVE. 


231 




and overthrew the pure simplicity of her passion. It 
was so simple to run to the person one loves, and already 
she could not do it, the torment of doubt held her ; she 
had sworn, so it would perhaps be very wicked. In the 
evening, when the wash was drv and Hubertine came to 
assist her to carry it in, she gave herself the night for 
reflection. Her arms filled to overflowing with the 
snowy linen, which had a delightful odor, she cast an 
uneasy glance at the Clos-Marie, already obscured by the 
twilight, as at a corner of friendly nature refusing to be 
an accomplice. 

On the morrow Angelique awoke fall of trouble. 
Other nights passed without bringing her a resolution. 
She recovered her calmness only in her certainty of being 
beloved. That had remained unshaken, she relied upon 
it divinely. Beloved, she could wait, she would bear 
everything. Fits of charity had again seized on her, she 
was affected by the slightest sufferings, her eyes swollen 
with tears always on the point of gushing forth. P(^re 
Mascart received tobacco, the Chouteaus even got sweet- 
meats out of her. But the Lemballeuses particularly 
profited by the windfall ; Tiennette had been seen dancing 
at the fetes in one of the kind young lady’s dresses. 
And it chanced that, one day, as Angelique was bringing 
to Mere Lemballeuse some camisoles promised the day 
before, she perceived, from a*distance, at the mendicants’ 
house, Madame de Voincourt and her daughter Claire, 
accompanied by Felicien. The latter, without doubt, 
had brought them. Rhe did not let them see her, she 
returned, her heart frozen. Two days later, she saw 
them all three go to the Chouteaus’; then, one morning, 


\ 


232 


LE^Bfiva 


P^re Mascart told her of a visit of the handsome young 
man with two ladies. After that she abandoned her poor, 
who were no longer hers, since, after having taken them 
from her, Felicien had given them to those women ; she 
ceased to go out, afraid of encountering them again, of 
receiving that wound in her heart the pain of which pen- 
etrated deeper; and she felt that something was dying in 
her, her life was ebbing away drop by drop. 

One evening, after one of those meetings, alone in her 
chamber, stifling with anguish, she let this cry escape 
from her : 

He loves me no longer! 

She again saw Claire de Voincourt, tall and beautiful, 
with her crowm of black hair; and she again saw him", 
beside her, slender and haughty. Were they not made 
for each other, of the same race, so well-matched that one 
might have believed them already married ?* 

He loves me no longer, he loves me no longer 1 ” 

This burst out within her with a great noise of de- 
struction. Her faith shaken, everything crumbled, and 
she could not recover sufficient calmness to examine, to 
coldly discuss the facts. She believed the day before, 
she no longer believed at this hour : a breath, come from 
she knew not where, had sufficed; and, at a stroke, she 
had fallen to the extremity of misery, which is not to 
believe one’s self beloved. • He had told her in the past 
that it was the only grief, the abominable torture. Until 
then she had been able to resign herself, she had expected 
the miracle. But her strength had left her with her 
faith, she felt the distress of a child. And the painiul 
Struggle began. . 


le:k^ive. 




At first; slie made an appeal to her pride : so much the 
better if he loved lier no longer, for she was too proud to 
love him further. And she lied to herself, she affected 
to be delivered, to hum carelessly while she embroidered 
the coat-of-arras of the Hautecoeurs to which she had 
applied herself. But her heart swelled so that it almost 
stifled her, she had the shame of confessing to herself 
that she was base enough to love him still, to love iiim 
more. During a week, the coat-of-arms, as it grew 
thread by thread beneath her fingers, filled her with a 
frightful melancholy. Quartered, one and four, two and 
three, of Jerusalem and of Ilautecoeur; of Jerusalem, 
which is of silver with the cross of gold with cross-pieces 
at either end, stationed with four little crosses of the 
same; of Hautecoeur, which is of azure with the fortress 
of gold, with an escutcheon of sable with a heart of silver 
in the centre, the whole accompanied by three fleurs de 
lys of gold, two at the top and one at the bottom. The 
enamels were made of silk twist, the metals of gold and 
silver thread. What misery to feel her hand tremble, to 
lower her head in order to hide her eyes which the 
splendor of this coat-of-arms blinded with tears ! She 
thought only of him, she adored him in the brilliancy of 
his legendary nobility. And when she embroidered the 
device, If God wishes, I wish,” in black silk upon a 
streamer of silver, she fully comprehended that she was 
his slave, that nevermore w^ould she free herself: her 
tears prevented her from seeing, while, mechanically, she 
continued to drive the needle. 

Then, it, was pitiful. Angelique loved desperately and 
struggled with that hopeless love which she could not 


234 


LE REVE. 


kill. Constantly slie wished to run to Felicien, to recon- 
quer him by casting herself upon his neck ; and con- 
stantly the battle recommenced. Sometimes she believed 
she had won the victory, there was a great silence within 
her, it seemed to her that she saw herself, as she would 
have seen a stranger, very small, very cold, kneeling like 
an obedient daughter in the humility of renunciation : it 
was no longer she, it was the wise daughter she had 
become, that the surroundings and education had made. 
Then, a flow of blood mounted and stunned her ; her fine 
health and ardent youth galloped like escaped mares; 
and she found herself again with her pride and her pas- 
sion, altogether given over to the fierce obscurity of her 
origin. Why should she have obeyed ? There was no 
duty, there was only free will. Already she was prepa- 
ring for her flight and calculating the favorable hour to 
force the grating of the garden of the bishop’s house. 
But already also the anguish had returned, a dull uneasi- 
ness, the torment of doubt. If she yielded to evil, she 
would' have eternal remorse. Hours, abominable hours 
passed in the midst of this uncertainty as to what course 
to take, beneath this tempestuous wind which incessantly 
cast her back from the rebellion of her love to the horror 
of the fault. And she came out weakened by each vic- 
tory over her heart. 

One evening, at the moment of quitting the house to 
rejoin Felicien, she thought suddenly of her assisted 
infant’s book in her distress at no longer finding the 
strength to resist her passion. She took it from the 
depths of the trunk, turned over the leaves and scourged 
herself at every page with the meanness of her birth, 


LE REVE. 


235 


hungering with an ardent need for humility. Father 
and mother unknown, no name, nothing but a date and a 
number, the abandonment of the wild plant which springs 
up at the edge of the road! And her remembrances 
arose in a throng, the rich meadows of the Nievre, the 
domestic animals she had watched there, the flat road of 
Soulanges, where she had walked barefooted, Mamma 
Nini who used to strike her when she stole apples. Cer- 
tain pages particularly awakened her recollections, those 
which bore witness, every three months, to the visits of 
_ the under-inspector and the physician, signatures, ac- 
companied sometimes with observations and information: 
a malady of which she had come near dying, a claim of 
her nurse for burnt shoes, bad notes for her unruly char- 
acter. It was the journal of her misery. But one entry 
brought the tears to her eyes, the statement establishing 
the breaking of the necklace which she had worn until 
she was six years old. She remembered having instinct- 
ively execrated it, that necklace composed of bone olives, 
strung on a silken cord and fastened with a silver medal, 
bearing the date of her entrance and her number. She 
considered it the collar of a slave, she would have broken 
it with her little hands, had not the fear of the conse- 
quences restrained her. Then, having grown older, she 
had complained that it was strangling her. For a year 
longer it had been left on her. Hence what joy when 
the under-inspector had cut the cord in the presence of 
the Mayor of the Commune, replacing that mark of indi- 
viduality by a formal description, in which were already 
her violet-hued eyes and her flne golden locks! And, 
nevertheless, she still felt it about her neck, -that collar 


236 


LE REVE. 


0 

of a domestic animal, which one marks in order to recog- 
nize it: it remained in her flesh, she was stifling. That 
day, at that page, humility returned, frightful, and 
caused her to go up again to her chamber, sobbing, 
unworthy of being loved. Two other times the book 
saved her. Afterwards, she was powerless against her 
revolts. 

Now, it was at night that the crisis of temptation tor- 
mented her. Before going to bed, to purify her sleep, 
she forced herself to re-read the Legend. But, with her 
forehead between her two hands, despite her efforts, she 
no longer understood : the miracles stupefied her, she 
perceived only a colorless flight of phantoms. Then, in 
her vast bed, after a leaden annihilation, a sudden 
anguish awakened her with a start amid the darkness. 
She straightened herself up, bewildered, knelt among the 
throwa-off coverings, sweat on her temples, shaken all 
over with a quiver ; and she clasped her hands, and she 
stammered : My God, why hast Thou abandoned me ? ” 

For her distress was at feeling herself alone, at those 
moments, in the gloom. She had dreamed of Felicien, 
she trembled to dress herself, to go and rejoin him, while 
no one was there to prevent her. It was the grace which 
was withdrawing from her, God had ceased to be about 
her, the surroundings had abandoned her. Desperately, 
she called upon the unknown, she lent her ear to the 
invisible. And the air was empty, no more whispering 
voices, no more mysterious touches. Everything seemed 
dead : the Clos-Marie, with the Chevrotte, the willows, 
the grass, the elms of the bishop’s house, and the cathe- 
dral itself. Nothing remained of the dreams which she 


LE EEVE. 


237 


had placed there, the white flight of the virgins, in van- 
ishing, had left only the sepulchre of things. She ago- 
nized with powerlessness, disarmed, like a Christian of^the 
primitive Church overwhelmed by hereditary sin as soon 
as the aid of the supernatural ceased. In the sad silence 
of this protecting corner, she heard it born again and 
howl, that heredity of evil, triumphant over the education 
received. If, in two minutes more, no aid came to her 
from the unknown forces, if things did not awake and 
sustain her, she would certainly succumb, she would go 
to her destruction. “ My God, my God, why hast Thou 
abandoned me And, on her knees in the midst of her 
vast bed, so small and so delicate, she felt that she was 
dying. 

Then, every time, up to the present, at the minute of 
her extreme distress, a coolness had relieved her. It vras 
the grace which had pity, which had entered into her to 
restore her illusion. She leaped barefooted upon the 
floor of the chamber, she ran to the window with a great 
bound; and there she heard anew the voices, invisible 
wings grazed her hair, the people of the Legend emerged 
from the trees and the stones and surrounded her in a 
throng. Her purity, her kindness, all that there was of 
her in the things there, returned to her and saved her. 
Henceforward, she was no longer afraid, she knew that 
she was guarded: Agnes had returned, in company with 
the virgins, wandering and tender in the quivering air. 
It was a distant encouragement, a long murmur of vic- 
tory which reached her, mixed with the wind of the 
night. For an hour she breathed this calming mildness, 
mortally sad, strengthened in her will to die rather than 


238 


LE REVE. 


fail to keep her oatli. At last, broken, she returned to 
bed, slie went to sleep again with the fear of the crisis 
of the morrow, still tormented with the idea that she 
would ultimately succumb if she weakened thus every 
time. 

Languor, in fact, had been exhausting Angelique ever 
since she had no longer believed herself beloved by 
Felicien. She had the wound in her side, she was dying 
of it somewhat each hour, mute, without a complaint. 
At first, this was evidenced by fits of lassitude: a difii- 
culty in breathing seized upon her, she was compelled to 
drop her thread, remained for a minute with pale eyes 
lost in space. Then, she had ceased to eat, scarcely a 
few mouthfuls of milk ; and she hid her bread, cast it to 
the neighbors’ chickens in order net to make her parents 
uneasy. A physician was summoned, but discovered 
nothing, said it was the too cloistered life and contented 
himself with recommending exercise. It was a swooning 
of her entire being, a slow disappearance. Her body 
floated as if poised on two huge wings, light seemed 
to come from her thin face where her soul was 
burning. And she had reached the point of no longer 
coming down from her chamber save in leaning with both 
hands against the walls of the stairway and staggering. 
But she persisted, put on a brave air as soon as she felt 
herself observed, wishing, in spite of all, to finish the 
panel of difficult embroidery for MonseigneuFs chair. 
Her long little hands ‘no longer had the strength, and 
when she broke a needle she could not draw it out with 
the pincers. 

Now, one morning when Hubert and Hubertine, forced 


LE KEVE. 


239 


to go out, had left her alone at work, the embroiderer, 
who was the first to return, found her on the floor ; she 
had slipped from her chair and fainted, overcome in front 
of the frame. She ha.d succumbed at the task, one of the 
great golden angels remained unfinished. Upset, Hubert 
took her in his arms and strove to stand her on her feet. 
But she fell baek, she did not awake from this anni- 
hilation. 

“ My dear, my dear ! In pity, answer me ! 

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him sadly. 
Why did he wish her to live ? She was so happy dead ! 

What ails you, my dear ? So you have deceived us, 
you love him still?” 

She did not answer, she looked at him with her air of 
immense sadness. Then, with a desperate clasp, he lifted 
her up, carried her to her chamber ; and, when he had 
placed her upon the bed, so white, so feeble, he wept at 
the cruel deed he had done in keeping from her the man 
she loved. 

I would have given you to him ! Why did you say 
nothing to me ? ” 

But she did not speak, her eyelids closed again and she 
seemed to fall asleep once more. He had remained stand- 
ing, his eyes upon her thin lily face, his heart bleeding 
with pity. Then, as she breathed freely, he went down- 
stairs on hearing his wife return. 

Below, in the workroom, the explanation took place. 
Hubertine had just removed her hat, and immediately he 
told her that he had picked up the child there, that she 
was dozing in her bed, stricken to death. 

^^We are deceived. She still thinks of that young 


240 


LE r£vE. 

man, and she is dying because of him. Ah ! if you knew 
the shock I have received, the remorse which has torn 
me, since I have understood and carried her up-stairs in 
such a pitiful state ! It is our fault, we have separated 
them by lies. What? you would let her suffer, you 
would not say anything to save her ! ” 

Huber tine, like Angelique, was silent, looked at him 
' with her great reasonable air, pale with trouble. And 
he, the passionate one whom this suffering passion-threw 
out of his habitual submission, did not calm himself, but 
shook his feverish hands. 

Well, I will speak ! I will tell her that Felicien 
loves her, that we had the cruelty to prevent him from 
returning by deceiving him also. Each one of her tears, 
now, burns my heart. It would be a murder of which I 
should feel myself the accomplice. I want her to be 
happy, yes, happy, no matter what happens, by any 
means ! ” 

He had drawn nearer to his wife, he dared to cry out 
his rebellious tenderness, irritating himself further with 
the sad silence which she preserved. 

Since they love each other, they are the masters ! 
There is nothing beyond, when one loves and is beloved. 
Yes, by any means, happiness is legitimate.” 

. Finally, Hubertine spoke, in her slow voice, standing 
motionless. 

“ Let him • take her from us, let him marrv her in 
spite of us, in spite of his father, eh ? That is the advice 
you give them ; you believe that they will be happy after- 
wards, that love will suffice ! ” 

And, in the same wounded tone, she continued : 


> N s* 


LE REVE. 


241 


“ xls I was returning, I passed tlie cemetery, a hope 
made me enter there again. I knelt once more on that 
spot worn by our knees, and I prayed there for a long 
while.’' 

Hubert had turned pale, a cold shiver had carried off 
his fever. Certainly, he knew it, the tomb of the obsti- 
nate mother, where they had gone so often to weep and 
to submit, while accusing themselves of their disobedi- 
ence, in order that the dead woman might show them 
mercy from the depths of the soil. And they had re- 
mained there for hours, certain of feeling that mercy 
bloom within them, if ever she accorded it to them. 
What they demanded was another child, a child of par- 
don, the sole sign by which they would know themselves 
forgiven at last. But nothing had come, the cold and 
deaf mother left them beneath the inexorable punish- 
ment, the death of their first child, which she had taken 
and borne away, which she refused to restore to them. 

“I prayed for a long while,'’ repeated Hubertine, 
listened to hear if anything gave a &tart.” 

Anxiously, Hubert questioned her with a look. 

“ And nothing, no, nothing mounted from the ground, 
nothing gave a start within me. Ah ! it is done, it is 
too late, we have brought our misfortune upon us.'’ 

Then, he trembled and asked: ^‘Do you accuse me?’* 

Yes, you are the guilty one, I also committed the 
fault in following you. We have disobeyed and our 
whole life has been spoiled by it." 

And you are not happy? ” 

No, I am not happy. A woman who has no child is 
not happy. To love is nothing, the love must be blest,’* 
15 


242 


LE EEra. 


He had fallen upon a chair, weakening, his eyes big 
with tears. Never had she thus reproached him with 
the living sore of their existence ; and she, who had re- 
turned so quickly and consoled him when she had 
wounded him by an involuntary allusion, this time 
watched him suffer, still standing, without a movement, 
without a step towards him. He wept, he cried out in 
the midst of his tears : 

Ah [ the dear child up-stairs, it is she whom you con- 
demn ! You do not want him to marry her as I married 
you that she may suffer what you have suffered.” 

She responded with a nod of the head, simply, in all 
the strength and simplicity of her heart. 

But you have said youi'self that the poor dear girl 
will die of it. Bo you wish her death ? '' 

Yes, her death rather than an unhappy life! ” 

He arose, quivering, he sought refuge in her arms, and 
both of them sobbed. For a long time they clasped each 
other. He submitted ; she, now, was compelled to lean 
on his shoulder in order to recover sufficient courasre. 

o 

They came out of this desperate and resolved, shut up in 
a great and poignant silence, at the end of which, if God 
willed it, was the consented to death of the child. 

From that day Angelique was forced to remain in her 
chamber. Her weakness became such that she could not 
come down to the workroom : immediately her head 
turned, her limbs gave way beneath her. At first, she 
walked, traveled as far as the balcony*by aiding herself 
with the furniture. Then, she had to content herself 
with going from her bed to her arm-chair. The journey 
was long, she risked it only m-orning and evening, ex- 


LE REVE. 


243 


liaiisteJ. ISTevertheless, she still worked, abandoning the 

too difficult embroidery in bas-relief, embroidering flowers 

in shaded silks ; and she embroidered them after nature, 

a bouquet of flowers without perfume, which left her 

— • 

calm, hortensias and roses tremi^res. The bouquet 
bloomed in a vase, often she rested herself for minutes by 
looking at it, for the silk, light as it was, weighed heavy 
in her Angers. In two days she had made but one rose, 
fresh and brilliant upon the satin ; but it was her life; 
she wmuld hold the needle until the last breath. Melted 
by suffering, thinner than ever, she was now only a pure 
and very beautiful flame. 

AVhat was the use of struggling further, since Fclicien 
did not love her ? Now, she would die of that convic- 
tion : he did not love her, perhaps he had never loved 
her. As long as she had possessed strength, she had 
fought against her heart, her health and her youth, which 
had urged her to run and rejoin him. Since she had 
found herself nailed there, she had been forced to resign 
herself, it was flnished. 

One morning, as Hubert installed her in her arm-chair, 
placing her inert little feet upon a cushion, she said, with 
a smile : 

Ah ! I am quite sure of being wise at present and of 
not making my escape ! ” 

Hubert hastened to go down-stairs, choking, afraid of 
bursting into tears. 


244 


XE rSvE. 


CHAPTER XIL 


THE VICTORY. 

f^HHAT night Angelique could not sleep. A fit of in- 
somnia had possession of her; her eyelids burned, 
so extremely weak was she. As the Huberts had retired 
and as midnight would soon strike, she preferred to get 
up, despite the immense effort required, seized upon by 
the fear of dying if she remained longer in bed. 

She was stifling, she threw on a wrapper and dragged 
herself to the window, which she opened widely. The 
winter was rainy and of a mild dampness. Then, she 
sank into her arm-chair, after having raised the wick of 
the lamp, which was left burning all night, upon the lit- 
tle table in front of her. There, beside the volume of 
'^The Golden Legend,’' was the bouquet of roses tremi^res 
and hortensias which she was copying. And, in order to 
rouse herself again to life, she took the fancy to work, 
drew her frame to her and made several stitches with her 
wandering hands. The red silk of a rose bled between 
her white fingers, and it seemed as if this was the blood 
of her veins which was flowing away, drop by drop. 

But she who for two hours had turned in vain in her 
burning sheets, yielded almost immediately to sleep as 
soon as she was seated. Her head fell back, supported 
by the back of the chair, and bent a trifle over her right 
shoulder ; the silk having remained in her motionless 
hands, one might have thought that she was yet working. 


LE REVE. 


245 


Very white and very calm, she slumbered beneath the 
lamp in that chamber of the calmness and whiteness of 
the tomb. The light paled the great royal bed, draped 
with its faded pink chintz. The chest, the cupboard and 
the old oak chairs alone stood out, staining the walls with 
mourning. Minutes passed and she slept on, very calm 
and very white. 

At last there was a sound. And, upon the balcony, 
Felicien appeared, trembling, as thin as she. His face was 
troubled, he sprang into the chamber, when he perceived 
her, sunk thus in the depths of the arm-chair, pitiful and 
so beautiful beneath the lamp. An infinite pain wrung 
his heart, he knelt down, lost himself in a grieved con- 
templation. So she was no more, the malady had de- 
stroyed her, that she seemed to him no longer to have 
weight, to be stretched out there like a feather which the 
wind was about to blow away ? In her serene sleep her 
suflFering and her resignation showed themselves. He 
recognized her only by her lily-like grace, the shooting 
up of her delicate neck above her sloping shoulders and 
her long and transfigured face of a virgin flying to 
Heaven. Her hair was no longer anything but light, her 
soul of snow shone beneath the transparent silk of her 
skin. She had the beauty of the female saints delivered 
from their bodies ; he was dazzled and made hopeless by 
it with a shock which rendered him motionless, with 
clasped hands. She did not awake and he still looked at 
her. 

A slight breath from Felicien's lips must have passed 
over Angelique’s visage. Suddenly she opened her eyes 
very widely. She did not stir, she looked at -him in her 


246 


LE REVE. 


turn, with a smile, as in a dream. It was he, she recog- 
nized him although he had changed. But she believed 
herself dozing still, for she had seen him thus while 
sleeping, which, on awaking, increased her pain. 

He had stretched out his hands, he spoke. 

“ Dear soul, I love you. I was told what you v/ere 
suffering and I hastened to you. Behold me, I love you.'’ 
' She quivered and passed her fingers over her eyelids, 
with a mechanical movement. 

Doubt no longer. I am at your feet and I love you, 
I will always love you.’' 

Then, she uttered a cry. 

Ah ! it is you. I no longer expected you, and it is 
you.” 

With her groping hands she had taken his, she assured 
herself that he was not a wandering vision of sleep. 

You love me still, and I love you, ah ! more than I 
believed I could love ! ” 

It was a stupefaction of happiness, a first minute of 
absolute bliss, in which they forgot everything to enjoy 
only that certainty of loving each other again and of say- 
ing it to themselves. The sufferings of the past and the 
obstacles of the future had disappeared ; they knew not 
how they had come there, but they were there ; they 
mingled their gentle tears, they clasped each other in a 
chaste embrace, he overwhelmed with pity, she so ema- 
ciated by grief that she seemed but a breath in his arms. 
In the enchantment of her surprise, she remained as if 
paralyzed, swaying and happy in the depths of the arm- 
chair, not recovering the use of her limbs, half-raising 
herself only to fall back, in the intoxication of joy. 


24:7 


LE B^VE. 

All ! dear seigneur, my sole wish is fulfilled : I have 

seen you again before dying,” 

He raised his head, with a look of anmish, 

^‘Die! But I do not wish itJ I am here, I love 
you,” 

She smiled divinely. 

Oh ! I can die since you love me. Death no longer 
frightens me, I will fall asleep thus, upon your shoulder. 
Tell me again that you love me,” • 

I love ycu as I loved you yesterday, as I will love 
you to-morrow. Never doubt it, it is for eternity,” 

Yes, we love each other for eternity.” 

Angelique, in ecstasy, looked before her, into the white- 
ness of the chamber. But, gradually, an awakening made 
her grave. She was reflecting at last, amid that great 
felicity which had stunned her. And the facets astonished 
her. 

You love me ; why did you not come to me?” 

Your parents told me that you no longer loved me, 
I nearly died of it. And when I heard that you were ill, 
I resolved to come, even if I should be driven from this 
house, the door of which has been closed against me.” 

My mother told me also that you no longer loved me, 
and I believed her. I had seen you with that young 
lady, I thought you were obeying Monseigneur.” 

“No, I was waiting. But I have been cowardly, I 
trembled before him.” 

There was silence. Angelique had drawn herself up. 
Her face had grown hard, her forehead cut by a wrinkle 
of anger. 

“ Then, they have deceived us both, they have lied to 


248 


LE rSvE. 


ns in order to separate us. We loved each other, and 
they have tortured us, they have nearly killed both of 
us. Well ! it is abominable, it releases us from our oaths. 
W e are free.” 

A furious contempt had raised her to her feet. She no 
longer felt her illness, her strength had returned in this 
awakening of her passion and her pride. To have believed 
her dream dead and suddenly to find it living and radiant! 
To say to herself that they had done nothing unworthy 
of their love, that the guilty ones were the others 1 This 
augmentation of herself, this triumph at last certain, 
excited her, threw her into a supreme rebellion. 

Well, let us go ! ” said she, simply. 

And she walked the chamber, bravely, in all her energy 
and her will. Already she had selected a cloak to cover 
her shoulders. A bit of lace upon her head would suf- 
fice. 

Felicien had uttered a cry of delight, for she had antici- 
pated his wish, he had thought only of this flight, with- 
out finding the audacity to propose it to her. Oh ! to 
depart together, to disappear, to cut short all vexations, 
all obstacles ! And that on the instant, avoiding even 
the struggle of reflection I 

Yes, let us go at once, my dear soul. I came to take 
you, I know w^here we can get a carriage. Before dawn 
we shall be far away, so far that no one can ever overtake 
us.” 

She opened drawers and shut them violently, without 
taking anything from them, in a growing excitement. 
What ! she had tortured herself for weeks, she had striven 
to drive him from her memory and had even believed she 


LE REVE. 


249 


had succeeded in doing so ! And nothing had been 
accomplished, and that frightful task was to be done over 
again ! No, never would she have had sufficient strength. 
Since they loved each other, it was very simple : they 
would get married, no power could separate them. 

Let me see, what must I take with me ? Ah ! I was 
foolish, with my childish scruples ! When I think that 
they descended even to lying ! Yes, I should have died 
if they had not summoned you! Must 1 take linen, gar- 
ments, tell me ? Here is a warmer dress. And they 
put a pack of ideas' a pack of fears in my head. There 
is good, there is evil, what one may do, what one may 
not do, things complicated enough to distract one. They 
lie still, it is not true : there is only the happiness of liv- 
ing, of loving the one who loves you. You a‘re fortune, 
beauty, youth, my dear seigneur, and I give myself to 
you; my sole pleasure is in you; do with me as you 
please.” 

She triumphed, in a flash of all those hereditary fires 
which they had believed dead. Strains of music intoxi- 
cated her; she saw their royal departure, that son of 
princes bearing her away, making her queen of a dis- 
tant kingdom; and she followed him, hanging about his 
neck, lying upon his bosom, in such a quiver of ignorant 
passion that all her body grew weak with the felicity of 
it. To be all alone together, to abandon themselves to 
the gallop of horses, to flee and vanish in an embrace ! 

^‘1 will take nothing with me, eh? What is the 
good?” 

He was burning with his excitement, already at the 
door. 


250 


LE BEVE. 


No, nothing. Let us go quickly.’’ 

^^Yes, let us go, that’s it.'* 

And she had rejoined him. But she turned, she wished 
to take a last look at the chamber. The lamp burned 
with the same pale softness, the bouquet of hortensias and 
roses tremieres still bloomed, an unfinished rose, living 
nevertheless, in the centre of the frame, seemed awaiting 
her. Above all, never had the chamber appeared to her 
so white, the v/hite walls, the white bed, the white air, as 
if filled with a white breath. 

Something in her vacillated, and she was forced to lean 
on the back of a chair, which was beneath her hand, near 
the door. 

Wha.t ails you?*’ demanded Felicien, uneasily. 

She did not answer, she breathed with difficultv. 
Then, again seized upon by a fit of trembling, her limbs 
already -giving way beneath her, she was compelled to sit 
down. 

‘‘ Do not be uneasy, it is nothing. A minute’s rest 
only, and we will go.*’ 

They were silent. She glanced about the chamber, as 
if she had forgotten a precious object which she could not 
name. It was a regret, at first slight, but which 
increased and gradually was choking her. She no longer 
recollected herself. Was it all that whiteness which was 
retaining her thus ? She had always loved white, to the 
point of stealing the remnants of white silk, in order to 
give herself the enjoyment of them in secret. 

A minute, a minute more, and we will go, my dear 
seigneur.” 

But she no longer even made an effort to arise. In 


LE REVE. 


261 


his anxiety, he had again cast himself upon his knees in 
front of her. 

Are you suffering ? Can I do anything for you ? 
If you are cold, I will take your little feet in my hands 
and warm them until they are strong enough to run.” 

She shook her head. 

No, no, I am not cold, I could walk. Wait a min- 
ute, a single minute.” 

He saw clearly that invisible chains were upon her 
limbs, held her there so strongly that in a minute, per- 
haps, it would be impossible for him to tear her away. 
And he thought of the inevitable struggle with his father 
on the morrow if he did not take her off at once, of that 
explosion before which he had recoiled for weeks. Then, 
he grew urgent, with an ardent supplication. 

Come, the roads are dark at this hour, the carriage 
will bear us away in the darkness; and we will go on 
constantly, constantly, rocked, asleep in each others 
arms, as if buried beneath down, without fearing the 
coolness of the night; and, when the day breaks, we will 
continue in the sunlight, further, further still, until we 
reach the land where people are happy. No one will 
know us, we will live hidden in the depths of some vast 
garden, having no other care than to love each other 
more with each new day. Flowers as tall as trees will 
be there, fruits sweeter than honey. And we will live 
upon nothing, amid that eternal spring, we will live upon 

our kisses, mv dear soul.” 

* */ 

She quivered beneath this burning love, with which 
he warmed her face. All her being grew faint at the 
touch of promised joys. 


252 


LE REVE. 


Oh ! in a moment, presently ! 

Then, if traveling fatigues us, we will return here, 
we will again raise up the walls of the Chateau d' Haute- 
coeur and there end our days. That is my dream. All 
our fortune, if necessary, shall be thrown into it with 
open hand. Anew the donjon shall command the two 
valleys. We will dwell in the house of honor, between 
the Tower of David and the Tower of Charlemagne. The 
entire colossus shall be re-established as in the days of its 
power, the curtains, the buildings, the chapel, in the 
barbarous magnificence of the past. And I desire that 
we there shall lead the existence of the old times, you 
princess and I prince, amid a suite of men-at-arms and 
pages. Our walls fifteen feet thick will isolate us, we will 
be in the legend. The sun sinks behind the hills, we 
return from the hunt upon great white horses, amid the 
respect of kneeling villages. The horn sounds, the 
drawbridge sinks. Kings are at our table in the even- 
ing. At night, our couch is upon a platform, surmounted 
by a dais, like a throne. Distant, very sweet music 
plays, while we fall asleep in each other’s arms, amid the 
purple and the gold.” 

Quivering, she now smiled with a proud pleasure, com- 
batted by a suffering which had returned and taken pos- 
session of her, effacing the smile of her sad mouth. And, 
as with her mechanical gesture she thrust away the 
tempting visions, he redoubled his passion, strove to seize 
her in his bewildered arms. 

‘‘ Oh ! come, oh ! be mine. Let us flee, let us forget 
everything in our happiness.” 

But she suddenly freed herself, escaped from him, in 


LE rSvE. 


o 


an instinctive revolt ; and, standing, this cry finally burst 
from her lips : 

No, no, I cannot, I can no longer ! ’’ 

Nevertheless, she lamented, yet torn by the struggle, 
hesitating, stammering. 

I beg you, be kind, do not hurry me, wait. I 
wmuld have liked so much to obey you in order to prove 
to you that I love you, to go upon your arm to the beau- 
tiful distant lands, to dwell royally with you in the 
chateau of your dreams. That seemed to me so easy, I 
ha.d so often re-made the plan of our flight. And — how 
shall I tell you ? — now it appears to me impossible. It 
is as if suddenly the door had been walled up and I could 
not go out.” 

lie wished to dazzle her anew ; she silenced him with 
a gesture. 

No, speak no more. How singular it is ! While you 
tell me such sweet, such tender things, which should con- 
vince me, fear seizes upon me, a chill freezes me. Mon 
Dieu ! what is the matter with me ? Your words remove 
me from you. If you continue, I shall no longer be able 
to listen to you, you will have to depart. Wait, wait a 
little.” 

And she walked slowly about the chamber, anxious, 
seeking to recover herself, while he, motionless, despairedo 

I had believed that I no longer loved you, but that 
was only from vexation assuredly, since, there, just now, 
when I again found you at my feet, my heart gave a leap, 
my first impulse was to follow you like a slave. Then, 
if I love you, why do you frighten me ? — and who pre- 
vents me from quitting this chamber, as if invisible hands 


254 


LE rSvE. 

held my body everywhere, held me by each of the hairs 
of my head ? ” 

She had stopped near the bed, she returned towards 
the cupboard, went thus before the other pieces of furni- 
ture. Certainly, secret bonds united them to her person. 
The white walls especially, the great whiteness of the 
mansarded ceiling enveloped her with a robe of purity, 
of which she would have divested herself only with tears. 
For the future all that made a part of her being, the sur- 
roundings had entered into her. And she realized this 
more forcibly yet when she found herself facing the frame, 
which had remained beneath the lamp at the side of the 
table, tier heart melted on seeing the commenced rose, 
which she would never finish if she departed in that way, 
like a criminal. The voars of toil evoked themselves in 
her memory, those years sc sage, so happy, such a long 
habitude of peace and honesty, which the thought of a 
fault revolted. Each day, the cool little house of the 
embroiderers, the active and pure life which she had led 
there, had re- made a portion of the blood of her veins. 

But he, seeing her thus reconquered by the things, 
felt the need of hastening the departure. 

Come, the hours are passing, soon there will no 
longer be time.” 

Then, the light came and she cried : 

It is already too late. You see plainly that I cannot 
follow you. There was formerly within me a passionate 
and proud being who would have thrown both her arms 
about your neck that you might bear her away. But 
I have been changed, I no longer recognize myself. You 
do not then hear that everything in this chamber cries 


LE EEVE. 


255 


out to me to remain ? And I no lonerer rebel, it has 

O f 

become my joy to obey.” 

Without speaking, without arguing with her, he strove 
to seize her again, to take her away like an indocile 
child. She avoided him and escaped towards the window. 

No, in mercy ! Just now I would have followed 
you. But it Wcis the final rebellion. Gradually, without 
my knowledge, the humility and the renunciation which 
they have placed in me must have amassed themselves 
there. Hence, at each return of my hereditary sin, the 
struggle was less severe, I triumphed over myself with 
greater ease. And the supreme strife has taken place, it 
is over for the future, I have conquered myself. Ah ! 
dear seigneur, I love you so much ! Do nothing against 
our happiness. To be happy, we must submit.” 

And, as he took another step, she found herself before 
the wide-open window, upon the balcony. 

“ You would not force me to throw myself from there ! 
Listen, comprehend that I have with me that which sur- 
rounds me. The things have spoken to me for a long 
while, I hear voices, and never have I heard them speak 
to me so loudly. The whole Clos-Marie is encouraging 
me not to spoil my existence and yours by giving myself 
to you against your father’s will. Thai murmuring voice 
is the Chevrotte, so clear, so cool that it seems to have 
put within me its crystal purity. That voice as of a 
crowd, tender and deep, is the entire ground, the grass, 
the trees, all the peaceful life of that sacred corner, work- 
ing for the peace of my own life. And the voices come 
from further off still, from the elms of the bishop’s house, 
from that horizon of branches, the slightest one of which 


256 


LE EfiVE. 


is interested in my victory. Then, that grand, sovereign 
voice is my old friend, the cathedral, which has instructed 
me, eternally awake in the night. Each one of its stones, 
the little columns of its windows, the buttresses of its 
arch have a murmur which I distinguish, a tongue 
which I comprehend. Listen to what they say, that 
even in death hope remains. When one humiliates one’s 
self! love stays and triumphs. And, finally, the air itself 
is full of a whispering of souls — behold my companions, 
the virgins, who arrive, invisible. Listen, listen ! ” 
Smiling, she had raised her hand, with a gesture of 
profound attention. All her being was snatched away in 
the scattered breaths. They were the virgins of the 
Legend, whom her imagination had evoked as in her 
childhood, and the mystic flight of whom came from the 
old book, with simple pictures, placed upon the table. 
Agnes first, clad in her locks, having on her finger the 
betrothal ring of the priest Paulin. Then, all the others 
• — Barbe with her tower, Genevieve with her lambs, 
Cecil e with her viol, Agathe with her torn breasts, 
Elizabeth begging along the highways, Catherine tri- 
umphing over the doctors. A miracle renders Luce so 
heavy that a thousand men and five pairs of oxen could 
not draw her to an evil place. The governor who wishes 
to kiss Anastasie becomes blind. And all, in the clear 
night, fly, very white, their bosoms still opened by the 
sword of the tortures, letting flow, instead of blood, rivers 
of milk. The air is white with it, the darkness brightens 
as with a stream of stars. Ah ! to die of love as they 
did, to die virgin, beaming with whiteness, at the first 
kiss of the husband I 


LE REVE. 


257 


Felicien had approached. 

“I* am the one wbo exists, Angelique, and you refuse 
me for dreams.” 

“ Dreams,” murmured she. 

“ For if those visions surround you, it is because you 
yourself have created them. Come, put nothing more of 
yourself in the things and they will be silent.” 

She made an excited movement. 

“Oh! no, let them speak, let them speak louder! 
They are my strength, they give me the courage to 
resist you. - It is the grace, and never has it inundated 
me with a like energy. If it is only a dream, the dream 
which I have put about me and which returns to me, 
what matters it I It saves me, it bears me away with- 
out stain in the midst of appearances. Oh 1 renounce, 

obev like me. I do not wish to follow vou.” 

%/ %/ 

In her weakness, she had drawn herself up, resolute, 
invincible. 

“But they have deceived you,” resumed he, “they 
have descended even to lying in order to disunite us! ” 

“ The fault of others will not excuse ours.” 

“ Ah ! your heart is withdrawn from me, you love me 
no longer.” 

“I love you, I struggle against you only for our love 
and our happiness. Obtain your father’s consent and I 
Avill follow you.” 

“ You do not know my father. God alone could bend 
him. Then, say, is it over? If my father directs me to 
marry Claire de Voincourt, must I obey him ? ” 

At this last blow, Angelique wavered. She could not 
restrain this complaint : 

16 


258 


LE EEVE, 


It is too much. I beg of you, go away, be not cruel. 
Why did you come ? I was resigned, I was growing 
used to the misfortune of not being beloved by you. And 
behold, you love me and all my martyrdom has re-com- 
menced ! Why would you have me live now ? ” 

Felicien believed she was weakening, he repeated : 

If my father wishes me to marry her ” 

She stiffened herself against her suffering ; and she 
again succeeded in holding herself upon her feet amid the 
breaking of her heart; then, dragging herself towards 
the table, as if to give him passage : 

Marry her, you must obey.'" 

He found himself in his turn before the window, ready 
to depart, since she was sending him away. 

But you will die of it ! ” he cried. 

She had calmed herself, she murmured, with a smile : 

m 

Oh ! my death is half-accomplished.” 

For an instant longer he gazed at her, so white, so 
.reduced, of the lightness of a feather which the wind 
blows off; and he made a gesture of furious resolution, he 
disappeared in the night. 

She, leaning upon the back of the arm-chair, when he 
liad gone, despairingly stretched her hands towards the 
darkness. Great sobs shook her body, a sweat of agony 
covered her face. Mon Dieu ! it was the end, she would 
see him no more. All her illness had seized upon her 
again, her weak limbs gave way beneath her. It was 
with great difficulty she regained her bed, upon which 
she fell victorious and breathless. Next morning, they 
found her there dying. The lamp had gone out at 
dawn, in the triumphal whiteness of the chamber. 


•LE KEVE. 


259 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE MIRACLE. 


XGfiLIQUE was dying. It was ten o’clock, a clear 


morning of the close of winter, brisk weather, 
with a white sky brightened by the sunlight. In the 
vast royal bed, di'aped with old pink chintz, she lay 
motionless, having been nnconscious since the previous 
evening. Stretched out upon her back, lier ivory hands 
abandoned on the coverlet, she had opened her eyes no 
more ; and her sharp profile had grown thin beneath the 
golden glory of her locks ; and one would have believed 
her already dead had it not been for the very faint breath 
which issued from her lips. 

The day before Angelique had confessed and taken 
communion, feeling that she was very ill. The good 
Abbe Cornille, towards three o’clock, had brought her 
the holy viaticum. Then, in the evening, as death was 
gradually freezing her, a great desire had come to her 
for the extreme unction, the celestial medicine instituted 
for the cure of the soul and the body. Before losing’ 

X/ ri 

consciousness, her last speech, scarcely a murmur, gathered 
by Ilubertine, had stammered out this desire for the holy 
oils, oh 1 instantly, that there might yet be time. But 
the night was advancing, they had waited for the day, 
and the Abbe, notified, was at last about to arrive. 

Everything was ready, the Huberts had finished ar- 
ranging the chamber. Beneath the gay sunlight, which, 



260 


LE EEVE. 


at that early hour, struck the window panes, it was of the 
whiteness of dawn, with the bareness of its great white 
walls. They had covered the table with a white cloth. 
To the right and left of a crucifix, two wax candles were 
burning upon it in silver candlesticks, brought up from 
the salon. And on it also were holy water and a 
sprinkler, a ewer of water with its basin and a towel, two 
plates of white porcelain, one full of flakes of w^adding, 
tlie other of horns of white paper. They had gone 
through the green-houses of the lower town wdthout 
finding other flowers than roses, huge white roses, the 
enormous tufts of which garnished the table as with a 
quiver of white lace. And, amid this accumulated 
whiteness, the d^ung Angelique still breathed with her 
faint breath, her eyelids closed. 

At his morning visit the doctor had said that she would 
not live the day out. From one moment to another, per- 
haps she might die without even recovering conscious- 
ness. And the Huberts were waiting. The thing must 
be, despite their tears. If they had wished for that 
death, preferring the dead child to the child in rebellion, 
it was because God had wished for it with them. Now, 
it had escaped from their power, they could only submit. 
They regretted nothing, but their beings succumbed with 
grief. Since she had been there, dying, they had cared for 
her, refusing all outside aid. They were still alone at 
that last hour, and they were waiting. 

Hubert mechanically opened the door of the faience 
stove, the roar of which resembled a groan. Silence suc- 
ceeded, a mild heat paled the roses. For an instant past, 
Hubertine had been listening to the sounds from the 


LE KEVE. 261 

cathedral behind the wall. The swaying of a bell had 
imparted a quiver to the old stones ; without doubt, the 
Abbe Cornille had quitted the church with the holy oils ; 
and she went down -stairs to receive him at the threshold 
of the house. Two minutes elapsed, a great murmur 
filled the narrow stairway of the turret. Then, in the 
warm chamber, Hubert, stricken with amazement, began 
to tremble, wliile a religious fear, a hope also, made him 
sink upon his knees. 

Instead of the old priest expected, it was Monseigneur 
who entered, Monseigneur in rochet of lace, having the 
violet stole and bearing the silver vessel in which was 
the oil of the sick, blessed by himself on Holy Thursday. 
His eagle e}^es remained fixed, his handsome pale face, 
beneath the thick curls of his white locks, preserved its 
majesty. And, behind him, like a simple clerk, walked 
the Abbe Cornille, a crucifix in his hand and the ritual 
beneath the other arm. 

Standing a moment upon the threshold, the Bishop 
said, in a grave voice : 

“ Pax huic domui.” 

“ Et omnibus habitantibus in ea,” responded the- 
priest, in a lower tone. 

AYlien they had entered, Hubertine, who had come up 
after them, also trembling in her excitement, knelt 
beside her husband. Both of them, prostrating them- 
selves, prayed with all their souls. 

The day succeeding his visit to Angelique, the terrible 
explanation had taken place between Felicien and his 
father. On the morning of that day he forced the doors, 
caused himself to be received in the very oratory, where 


the Bishop was yet at prayer, after one of his nights of 
frightful struggle against the uprising past. In that re- 
spectful son, bent until then by fear, rebellion, for a long 
time stifled, broke its bonds; and the shock was rough 
which dashed one against the other those two men of the 
same blood, prompt at violence. The old man, having 
quitted his praying desk, listened, his cheeks instantly 
empurpled, standing, mute, in haughty obstinacy. The 
young man, his visage also flaming, emptied his heart, 
spoke in an upbraiding voice, which was gradually 
raised. He said that Angelique was ill, dying; he told 
in what a crisis of terrified tenderness he had concocted 
the plan of fleeing with her, and how she had refused to 
follow him, with the submission and the chastity of a 
saint. Would it not be a murder to let that obedient 
child die, who persisted in receiving him only from his 
father’s hand ? When, at last, she might have had him, 
his title and his fortune, she had cried no, she had strug- 
gled, achieving a victory over her passion. And he 
loved her to the point of dying also ! — he despised him- 
self for not being at her side, in order that they might 
expire together, with the same breath ! Could any 
one have the cruelty to desire the mivSerable end of them 
both, when a word, a simple yes would cause so much 
happiness? Ah! the pride of name, the glory of money, 
the obstinacy of will, did those things count when there 
was no longer anything but to make two people happy ? 
And he clasped, he wrung his trembling hands, beside 
himself; he exacted a consent, still supplicating, already 
menacing. But the Bishop opened his lips only to 
answer with the word of his omnipotence: “Never!” 


LK REVE. 


263 


Then, Felicien, in his rebellion, grew wild, losing all 
discretion. He spoke of his mother. It was she who 
was resuscitated in him to claim the rights of passion. 
So his father had not loved her, so he was rejoiced at her 
death, that he showed himself hard to such an extent to 
those who adored each other and wished to live ? But 
it was in vain that he had frozen himself in the renun- 
ciations of worship, she would return to haunt and tor- 
ture him, since he tortured the child he had had bv their 
marriage. And he killed her again by refusing that 
child his chosen bride. One could not wed the church 
when one had wedded a woman. And, in the face of his 
motionless father, big with a frightful silence, he hurled 
the words perjurer and assassin. Then, terrified, stag- 
gering, he fled. 

When he was alone, Monseigneur, as if a knife had 
been plunged into liis breast, whirled about and fell, 
with both liis knees upon his praying desk. A fearful 
rattle came from his throat. Ah ! the miseries of the 
heart, the invincible weaknesses of the flesh! That 
woman, that dead being constantly resuscitated, he 
adored her as on the first evening when he had kissed 
her white feet; and this son, he adored him as a depend- 
ence of herself, a little of her life which she had left 
him; and this young girl, this little work-girl wliom he 
had repulsed, he adored her also, with the adoration 
which his son had for her. Now, all three were the 
despair of his nights. Though he had not been willing 
to avow it to himself, she had then touched him in the 
cathedral, that little embroiderer, so simple, with her 
golden locks, and the fresh nape of her neck, emitting 


264 


LE REVE. 


the odor of youth ? He saw her again, she passed 
before him, delicate, of a triumphant submission. A 
remorse would not have entered into him with a step 
more certain or more conquering. He could reject her 
before the world, but he well knew that for the future 
she held his heart in her humble hands, pricked by the 
needle. While Felicien was violently supplicating him, 
he had perceived, behind his blonde head, the two 
adored women, she for whom he wept, she who was 
dying for .his child. And, ravaged, sobbing, not know- 
ing where to recover calmness, he demanded of Heaven 

to give him the courage to tear out his heart, since that 
» 

heart Avas no longer God’s. 

Monseigneur prayed until evening. When he reap- 
peared, he Avas of the whiteness of Avax, torn but re- 
solved. He could do nothing, he repeated the terrible 
word: “Never!” God alone had the right to annul his 
decision ; and God, implored, was silent. It was or- 
dained to suffer. 

Two days passed; Felicien prowled in front of the lit- 
tle house, wild with grief, on the watch for news. Each 
time that any one came out, he grew faint with fear. 
And it was thus that, on the morning when Hubertine 
ran to the church to demand the holy oils, he learned 
that Angelique A\muld not last the day out. The Abbe 
Cornille Avas not there; he scoured the town to find him, 
placing in him a last hope of divine succor. Then, as 
lie brought back the good priest, his hope vanished, he 
fell into a fit of doubt and ra^re. What was to be done? 
How was Heaven to be forced to interpose? He 
escaped, again forced the doors of the bishop’s house; 


LE REVE. 


265 


and the 'Bishop, for a moment, was frightened by the 
incoherence of his words. Finally, he comprehended: 
Angelique was dying, she awaited the extreme unction, 
God alone could save her. The young man had come 
only to cry out his affliction, to break with that abom- 
inable father, to cast his murder in his face. But Mon- 
seigneur heard him witliout anger, his eyes suddenly 
brightened by a ray of light, as if a voice had spoken 
at last. And he made him a sign to walk first, he fol- 
lowed him, saying: 

“ If God wishes, I wish.” 

A great quiver shot through Felicien. Ilis father 
consented, absolved from his decision, yielding to the 
good will of the miracle. They no longer were any- 
thing, God would act. Tears blinded him while Mon- 
seigneur, in the sacristy, took the holy oils from the 
hands of the Abbe Cornille. He accompanied them, 
bewildered, he dare not enter the chamber, but sank 
upon his knees on the landing, in front of the wide open 
door. 

“ Pax huic domui.” 

“ Et omnibus habitantibus in ea.” 

Monseigneur placed the holy oils upon the white table, 
between the two wax candles, tracing in the air the sign 
of the cross with the silver vase as he did so. He after- 
wards took the crucifix from the Abbe’s hands and ap- 
proached the sick girl that ^he might kiss it. But 
Angelique was still without consciousness, her eyelids 
closed, her hands stiffened, like the slender and rigid 
figures of stone couched upon tombs. For an instant 
he gazed at her, saw from her slight breathing that she 


LE r£vE. 


Avas not dead and put the crucifix to her lips. He 
waited, his face preserved the majesty of tlie minister of 
penitence, no human emotion showed itself there when 
he had established that not a quiver had run over her 
sharp profile or amid her locks of light. She was alive, 
however, that sufficed for the redemption of her sins. 

Then, Monseigneur received fi*om the Abbe the holy 
water urn and sprinkler; and, while the latter presented 
to him the open ritual, he cast the holy water over the 
dying girl, at the same time reading the Latin words : 

“ Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo, et mundabor; lava- 
bis me, et super nivem dealbabor.” 

Drops sprang forth, the whole vast bed was refreshed 
by them as with dew. He rained them upon the fingers, 
•upon the cheeks; but, one by one, they rolled there as 
•upon an insensible bit of marble. And afterwards the 
Bishop turned towards the bystanders, he sprinkled 
them in their tarn. Hubert and Huber tine, kneeling 
side by side, in their need of ardent faith, bent beneath 
the shower of this benediction. And the Bishop also 
blessed the chamber, the furniture, the white walls, all 
that bare whiteness, when, on passing .near the door, he 
found himself in front of his son, who had fallen upon 
the threshold and was sobbing in his burning hands. 
With a slow movement, he raised the sprinkler three 
times, he purified him with a gentle rain. This holy 
water, thus spread everywhere, was, in the first place, to 
drive away the evil spirits, flying by the thousand mil- 
lions and invisil)le. At that moment, a pale ray of 
winter sunlight glided as far as the bed; and a whole 
flight of atoms, of agile dust, seemed alive there, innu- 


LE REVE. 


267 


merable, descended from a corner of the window as if 
to bathe with their warm multitude the cold hands of 
the dying girl. ' 

Having returned in front of the table, Monseigneur 
said the prayer : 

“ Exaudi nos.” 

He did not hasten, death was there, amid the curtains 
of old chintz; but he felt that it was lingering, that it 
would be patient. And, although, in the annihilation 
of her being, the child could not hear him, he spoke to 
her, he demanded: 

“Have you nothing on your conscience which gives 
you trouble? Confess your torments, relieve yourself, 
my daughter.” 

Stretched out, she maintained silence. When he had 
in vain given her the time to reply, he commenced the 
exhortation in the same full voice, without appearing to 
know that not one of his words reached her. 

“ Eecollect, demand, in the depths of j^ourself, pardon 
of God. The sacrament will purify you and give you 
new strength. Your eyes will become clear, your ears 
chaste, your nostrils cool, your mouth holy and your 
bands innocent.” 

He said to the end what it was necessary to say, his 
eyes upon her; and she scarcely breathed, not one of 
the lashes of her closed eyelids stirred. Then, he com- 
manded: 

« 

“ Eecite the creed.” 

After having waited, he recited it himself. 

“Credo in unum Deum.” 

“Amen,” responded the Abbe Cornille. 


268 


LE r£vE. 


They yet heard, upon the landing, Felicien weeping 
with great sobs, in the weakening of hope. Hubert and 
Ilubertine were praying, with, the same upward and 
timid movement, as if they had felt the unknown omni- 
potences descend. A pause took place, a stammering of 
prayer. And, now, the litanies of the ritual rolled out, 
the invocation to the male and female saints, the flight 
of the Kyrie Eleisons, calling all Heaven to the aid of 
miserable humanity. 

Then, suddenly, the voices fell, there was a profound 
silence. Monseigneur washed his fingers beneath the 
few drops of water which the Abbe poured out for him 
from the ewer. Finally, he again took the vessel of the 
holy oils, removed its lid and placed himself before the 
bed. It was the solemn approach of the sacrament, of 
that last sacrament, the efficacy of which effaces all sins 
mortal or venial, not pardoned, which remain in tlie soul 
after the other sacraments received : old remnants of for- 
gotten sins, sins committed unconsciously, sins of languor 
which have not permitted a firm re-establishment in the 
grace of God. But where were those sins to be found? 
They came, then, from without, in that ray of sunlight, 
with its dancing dust, which seemed to bring germs of 
life even upon that vast royal bed, white and cold with 
the death of a virgin. 

Monseigneur was absorbed, his glances again upon 
Angdlique, assuring himself that the faint breath had 
not ceased. He still resisted all human emotion on see- 
ing her so wasted, of the beauty of an angel, immaterial 
already. His thumb did not tremble when he dipped it 
in the holy oils and began the anointing upon the five 


LE REVE. 


269 


parts of the body where the senses reside, the five win- 
dows by which evil enters the soul. 

First, upon the eyes, upon the closed eyelids, the 
right, the left; and the thumb lightly traced the sign of 
the cross. 

“Per istarn sanctam unctionem, et suam piissirnani 
misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per 
visum deliqaisti.” 

And the sins of the sight were repaired, lascivious 
glances, dishonest curiosity, the vanities of spectacles, the 
evil readings, the tears shed for culpable vexations. And 
she had known no other book than “ The Legend,” no other 
horizon than the arch of the cathedral, which had shut 
off from her the rest of the world. And she had wept 
only in the struggle of obedience against passion. 

The Abbe Cornille took one of the flakes of wadding, 
wiped the two eyelids with it and then enclosed it in 
one of the horns of white paper. 

Afterwards, Monseigneur anointed the ears, with 
lobes of the transparency of mother-of-pearl, the right, 
the left, scarcely moistened with the sign of the cross. 

“ Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam 
misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per 
auditum deliquisti.” 

And every abomination of the hearing was redeemed, 
all the words, all the strains, of music which corrupt, 
slander, calumny, blasphemy, licentious talk heard with 
complaisance, the lies of love aiding in the defeat of 
duty, the profane songs exciting the flesh, the violins 
of orchestras weeping voluptuousness beneath the chan- 
deliers. And, in her isolation as a cloistered girl, she 


270 


LE REVE. 


had never even heard the free gossip of the neighbors, 
the oath of a carter as he whips his horses. And she 
had in her ears no other music than the holy hymns, the 
thunder of organs, the stammer of prayers, with which 
the little house vibrated, at the side of the old church. 

The Abbe, after having wiped the ears with a flake 
of wadding, put it in one of the horns of white paper. 

Afterwards, Monseigneur passed to the nostrils, the 
right, the left, like two petals of a white rose, which 
his thumb purified with the sign of the cross. 

“Per istarn sanctam unctionem, et suam piissirnam 
misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quid quid per 
odoratum deliquisti.” 

And the sense of smell returned to the first innocence, 
washed of every stain, not only of the carnal shame of 
perfumes, of the seduction of flowers with breaths too 
sweet, of the odors scattered in the air which put the 
soul to sleep, but also of the sins of the internal scent, 
the bad examples given to others, the contagious })est of 
scandal. And, good, pure, she had finished by being a 
lily among the lilies, a tall lily, the perfume of which 
strengthened the weak and brightened the strong. And, 
in point of fact, she was so purely delicate that she had 
never been able to tolerate the ardent pinks, the musky 
lilacs, the exciting hyacinths, at ease only amid the calm 
blooms, the violets of the wood. 

The Abbe wiped the nostrils and slipped the flake of 
wadding into another of the horns of white paper. 

Afterwards, Monseigneur, coming down to the closed 
mouth, which the faint breath scarcely opened, barred 
the lower lip with the sign of the cross. 


LE e£vE:* 


271 


“Per istam sanctam imctionem, et suam piissimam 
misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dornirms quidqiiid per gus- 
turn deliquisti.” 

And her whole mouth was now a chalice of innocence, 
for it was, this time, the pardon of the mean satisfac- 
tions of taste, gluttony, the sensuality of wine and 
honey, the pardon above all of the crimes of the tongue, 
tlie universal culprit, the provoker, the poisoner, the 
maker of quarrels, wars, errors, the false words with 
which Heaven, itself is darkened. And gluttony had 
]iever been her vice, she had come, like Elizabeth, to 
nourishing herself without distinguishing the food. 
And, if she had lived in error, it was her dream which 
had put her there, the hope of the beyond, the consola- 
tion of the invisible, all that enchanted world which her 
ignorance had created and which had made her a saint. 

The Abbe, after having wiped the mouth, folded the 
flake of wadding in the fourth of the horns of white 
paper. 

Finally, Monseigneur, to the right, then to the left, 
anointed the palms of the two little ivory hands, turned 
over upon the coverlet, effaced their sins with the sign 
of the cross. 

“Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam 
misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dorninus quidquid per tac- 
tum deliquisti.” 

And the entire body was white, washed of its last 
stains, those of the touch, the most soiling, robbeides, 
assaults, murders, without counting the sins of the other 
parts omitted, the bosom, the back and the feet, which 
this unction also redeemed, all that which burns and 


272 


LE REVE. 


roars in the flesh, our anger, our desires, our unruly pas- 
sions, the cliarnel-houses in which w'e run, the forbidden 
joys. And, since she had lain there, dying of her vic- 
tory, she had overcome her violence, her pride and her 
passion, as if she had brought the original evil only for 
the glory of triumphing over it. And she had not even 
known that she had had desires, that her flesh bad 
groaned with love, that the great quiver of her nights 
might be culpable, to such an extent was she armored by 
ignorance, lier soul white, all white. 

The Abbe wiped the hands, put the flake of wadding 
in the last horn of white paper, and burned the five horns 
in the depths of the stove. 

The ceremony was over, Monseigneur washed his An- 
gers before saying the Anal prayer. He had only to 
again exhort the dying girl, as he placed in her hand the 
symbolical wax taper to drive away the demons and to 
show that she had recovered the baptismal innocence. 
But she lay rigid, her eyes closed, dead. The holy oils 
had purifled her bodj^, the signs of the cross had left 
. their traces on the Ave windows of the soul, without 
causing a wave of life to remount to her cheeks. 
Implored, hoped for, the prodigy had not been produced. 
Hubert and Hubertine, yet kneeling side by side, no 
longer prayed, gazing with their Axed eyes so ardently 
that they might have .been thought immobilized forever, 
like those Agures of donees who await the resurrection 
in the corner of an old stained glass window. Felicien 
had now dragged himself on his knees to the very door, 
having ceased to sob, his head also erect that he might 
see, enraged at the deafness of God. 


LE. REVE. 


273 


For ’tlie last time Monseigneiir approaclied the bed, 
followed by the Abbe Gornille, who held, lighted, the 
wax taper whicli was to be placed in the hand of the 
sick girl. And the Bishop, j)ersisting in going to the 
■ end of the rite in order to leave God the time to act, 
pronounced the formula: 

“ Accipe lampadem ardentem, custodi unctionem tuam^ 
ut cum Dominus ad judicandum venerit, possis occur- 
rere ei cum omnibus sanctis, et vivas in secula secu- 
lorum.” 

“ Amen,” responded the Abbe. 

But, when they strove .to open Angdlique’s hand and 
to make it grasp the wax taper, the inert hand escaped 
from them and fell back upon the bosom. 

Then, Monseigneur was seized upon by a great fit of 
trembling. It was the emotion, fought for a long while, 
which was overflowing in him, bearing away the last 
rigidities of the priesthood. lie had loved that child 
from the day she had come to sob at his knees, pure, 
emitting the fresh odor of youth. Now, she was pitiful, 
with that pallor of the tomb, of a beauty so sad that he 
could no longer turn his glances towards the bed with- 
out his heart being secretly flooded with grief. He 
ceased to control himself, two big tears swelled his eye- 
lids and flowed over his cheeks. She could not die thus, 
he was vanquished by her spell in death. 

And Monseigneur, recalling the miracles of his race, 
that power which Heaven had given them to cure, 
thought that God was, without doubt, awaiting his con- 
sent as a father. He invoked Saint Agnes, before whom 
all his family had made their devotions, and like Jeau 
17 


274 


LE REVE. 


V..of Hautecoenr, praying at tlie bedsides of the pest- 
stricken and kissing them, he prayed, he kissed Auge- 
lique upon the month. 

“ If God wishes, I wish.” 

Instantly, Angeliqne opened her eyelids. She gazed 
at him without surprise, awakened from her long swoon ; 
and her lips, warm with the kiss, smiled. They w'ere 
the things which ought to be realized, perhaps she had 
aroused to dream them once again, finding it very simple 
that Monseigneur was there to betroth her to his son, 
since the hour had at last arrived. Of herself she sat 
up in the midst of the vast royal bed. 

The Bishop, having in his eyes the light of the prodigy, 
repeated the formula : 

“ Accipe larapadem ardentem.” 

‘‘Amen,” responded the Abbe. 

Angelique took the lighted taper, and, with a firm 
hand, she held it upright. Life had returned, the flame 
burned very brightly, driving away the spirits of the 
night. 

A great cry went through the chamber. Felicien was 
on his feet, as if raised up by the wind of the miracle; 
while the Huberts, thrown back by the same breath, 
remained upon their knees, their eyes staring, their faces 
rapturous at what they had seen. The bed had appeared 
to them enveloped by a bright light; whiteness still 
mounted in the ray of sunlight, like white feathers; and 
the white walls, all the white chamber preserved a snowy 
brilliancy. In the midst of it, like a lily refreshed and 
straightened up on its stalk, Angdlique gave out that 
brightness. Her fine golden locks encircled her with aq 


' LE k£ve. . 275 

' f 

aureole, Ler violet-hued eyes shone divinely, all the 
splendor of life radiated from her pure visage. And 
Felicien, seeing her cured, overwhelmed by that grace 
which Heaven had shown them, approached and knelt 
beside the bed. 

“ Ah ! dear soul, you recognize us, you live. I am 
yours, my father wishes it, since God has wished it.’’ 

She nodded her head and gave a gay laugh. 

“Oh! I knew, I was waiting. All I have seen ought 
to be.” 

Monseigneur, who had recovered his serene haughti- 
ness, again placed the crucifix upon her mouth, which 
she kissed, this time like a submissive servant. Then, 
with a sweeping gesture, through all the chamber, above 
all the heads, he gave the last benedictions, while the 
Huberts and the Abbe Cornille wept. 

Felicien had taken Angelique’s hand. And, in the 
other little hand, the taper of innocence was burning, 
very talk 



276 


LE Rf:VE. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE MARRIAGE. 



T he marriage was fixed for the early part of March. 

Blit Angelique remained very weak, despite the joy 
which radiated from her entire person. She had forthwith 
decided to go down again to the work-room from the first 
week of her convalescence, persisting in finishing the panel 
of embroidery in bas-relief for MonseigneuPs chair: it. 
was her last task as a work-girl, said she, gayly, and one 
did not leave an order half-done. Then, exhausted < by. 
this effort, she had again been forced to keep her chamber. 
She lived there smiling, without recovering the full health 
of the past, always as white and immaterial as beneath the 
holy oils, going and coming with the light step of a vision, 
resting dreamily for hours after having made some long 
journey from her table to her window. And they post- 
poned the marriage ; they decided that they would await 
her complete re-establishment, which, with proper care, 
could not be long in being effected. 

Every afternoon Felicien went up-stairs to see her. 
Hubert and Hubertine were there; they passed adorable 
hours together ; they continually remade the same projects. 
Seated, she showed herself of a gay vivacity, the first to 
speak of the days of their coming existence which were to 
be so busy — the travels, Hautecoeur to be restored, all the 
felicities to be known. One would then have called her 
completely saved, regaining strength in the forward spring 



LE Rf:VE. 


277 


which came in, warmer daily, throiigli tlie open window. 
And she relapsed into the soberness of her visions only 
when she was alone, not fearing to be seen. At night 
voices had grazed her ; then, it was an appeal from the 
soil in her vicinity ; in her also light had broken — she 
comprehended that the miracle was continuing solely for 
the realization of her dream. Was she not already dead 
— no longer existing among the a})pearances save through 
a delay of things? This, in hours of solitude, soothed her 
with an infinite softness, without regret at the idea of 
being borne away in her joy, always certain of going to the 
* extremity of happiness. The malady would wait. Her 
great delight became simply serious because of it; she 
abandoned herself, inert, no longer feeling her body, flying 
to pure pleasures ; and it required that she should hear 
the Huberts open the door, of that Felicieii should enter 
to see her, to make her straighten herself up, feigning 
returned health, chatting with laughter of their years of 
housekeeping, very far off in the future. 

Towards the close of March Ang6lique seemed to 
brighten further. Twice, when all alone, she had had 
swoons. One morning she had just fallen at the foot of 
the bed as Hubert brought her up a bowl of milk, and, to 
deceive him^ she joked on the floor, said that she was 
hunting for a lost needle. Then, the next day, she grew 
very joyous ; she spoke of hastening the marriage, of put- 
ting it in the middle of April. Everybody protested: 
she was still so weak — whv not wait? — there was no 
hurry. But she grew excited ; she wished it immediately, 
immediately. Hubertine, surprised, felt a suspicion of 
this haste, looked at her for an instant, turning pale at the 


278 


LE RfeVE, 


slight, cold breath which grazed her. Already the dear 
patient had calmed herself, in her tender need of causing 
an illusion for the others, she who knew herself condemned. 
Hubert and Felicien, in continual adoration, had seen 
nothing,, felt nothing. And, getting on her feet by an 
effort of will, going and coming with her supple step of 
the past, she was charming ; she said that the ceremony 
would complete her cure, so happy would she be. Besides, 
Monseigneur would decide. When, that very evening, 
the Bishop was there, she explained to him her desire, her 
eyes in his, without taking her glance from him, her voice 
so soft that, beneath the words, there was the ardent sup- 
plication of what she did not say. Monseigneur knew, 
and he understood. He fixed the marriage for the middle 
of April. 

Then they lived in a tumult; great preparations were 
made. Hubert, despite his voluntary guardianship, was 
compelled to ask the consent of the Director of the Assist- 
ance Publique, who still reprasented the family council, 
Ang6lique not being of age; and M. Grandsire, the Judge 
of the Peace, had charged himself with those details in 
order to spare F6licien and the young girl the painful side 
of them. But Ang^lique, having seen that they were 
using concealment, had her pupiTs book brought up to 
her one day, desiring to hand it herself to her betrothed. 
She was thenceforward in a state of perfect humility; she 
wished that he should fully know the meanness from which 
he drew her in order to exalt her in the glory of his 
legendary name and of his great fortune. That adminis- 
trative document, that register in which there was only a 
date followed by a number, constituted her papers. She 


LE ntVE. 


279 


turned over the leaves once more, then gave it to him 
without confusion, joyous that she was nothing and that 
he made her everything. He was deeply touched by tliis; 
he knelt, kissed her hands with tears, as if it were she who 
had made him the sole gift, the royal gift of her heart. 

The preparations occupied Beaumont for two weeks, 
turning the upper town and the lower town topsy-turvy. 
Twenty work-girls, they said, were toiling night and day 
on the trousseau. The wedding dress alone occupied three 
of them ; and there would be an outfit costing a million 
francs, a flood of lace, of v’elvet, of satin and of- silk, an 
ocean of precious stones, of diamonds fit for a queen. 
But, above all, the liberal alms stirred the people, the 
bride having insisted upon giving to the poor as much as 
they had giv’en her, another million which descended upon 
the country in a rain of gold. At last she had satisfied her 
old need of charity, in the prodigalities of the dream, with 
o[)en hands, letting flow over the |X)verty -stricken a river 
of wealth, a freshet of comfort From the bare and white 
little chamber, from the old arm-chair ia which she was 
nailed, she laughed with delight at it when the Abbe 
Cornille brought her the lists of distribution. Again, 
again! they never distributed enough. She would have 
desired Pere Mascart seated at princely feasts, the Chou- 
teaus living in the luxury of a palace, M%re Gabet cured, 
restored to youth, by dint of money ; and the Lemballeuses, 
the mother and the three daughters, she would have ov’er- 
whelmed with dresses and jewels. The hail of gold 
])ieces redoubled ujK>n the town, as in the fairy tales, even 
beyond the daily necessities, for the beauty and the joy, 
the glory of the gold, falling in the street and shining in 
the broad sunlight of charity. 


280 


LE EfiVE. 

9 

Finally, the evening before the great clay, all was ready. 
Felicien had acquired, behind the bishop’s house, in the 
Rue Magi oi re, an old hotel, which they liad finished fur- 
nishing sumptuously. It consisted of large apartments, 
ornamented with admirable hangings, filled with, the most 
costly furniture, a salon in ancient tapestry, a blue? bou- 
doir of the mildness of the morning sky, a bed-chamber 
above all, a nest of white silk and of white lace, nothing 
but white, light, flying, a very quiver of brightness. But 
Angelique, whom a carriage would have to take, had con- 
stantly refused to go see these marvels. She listened to 
the recital of them with an enchanted smile, and she gave 
no order, she would not occupy herself with the arrange- 
ment. No, no, that was passing very far off, in that 
unknown world of which she was still ignorant. Since 
those who loved her were preparing that happiness for her 
so tenderly, she desired to enter into it like a princess 
come from fabled lands, approaching a real kingdom, 
where she would reign. And, in like manner, she pro- 
hibited herself from having a knowledge of the wedding 
outfit, which also was there, the trousseau of fine linen 
embroidered with her inarquis6s initial, the gala toilets 
loaded with embroidery, the ancient jewels, a whole heavy 
cathedral treasure, and the modern jewels, prodigies of 
delicate mounting, brilliants the rain of which showed 
only their pure water. It sufficed for the victory of her 
dream that this fortune awaited her at her house, radiant 
in the coming reality of life. The wedding dress alone 
was brought, the morning of the marriage. 

That morning, awake before the others, in her vast bed, 
Angelique experienced a minute of hopeless weakness, fear- 


Lr. r.f:vE. 


281 


ing that she (ionld not keep on her feet. She tried, felt her 
limbs bend beneath her, and, giving the lie to the brave 
serenity she had shown for weeks, a frightful anguish, the 
last, cried out from all her being. Then, as soon as she 
saw Hubertine enter joyously, she was surprised to walk, 
for it certainly was no longer her own strength, help surely 
had come to lier from the invisible, friendly hands sup- 
}X)rted her. They dressed her; she no longer weighed 
anything; she was so light that, joking, her mother ex- 
pressed astonishment at it, saying to her not to stir further 
if she did not wish to fly away. And, during all the 
toilet, the cool little house of the Huberts, living at the 
side of the cathedral, quivered with the enormous breath 
of the giant, with what was already overflowing from it of 
the ceremony, the feverish activity of the clergy, the flights 
of the bells especially, a continuous rocking of joy with 
which the old stones vibrated. 

Over the upper tower, for an hour, the bells had sounded 
as at the grand fetes. The sun had arisen radiant, a limpid 
morning of April, a flood of spring rays, alive with the 
sonorous appeals which had aroused the inhabitants. All 
Beaumont was glad because of the marriage of the little 
embroiderer, whom all the hearts had wedded. That beau- 
tiful sunlight riddling the streets was like the rain of gold, 
the alms of the fairy tales, which had gushed from her 
frail hands. And, beneath this joy of the light, the crowd 
surged in a body towards the cathedral, filling the lateral 
naves, overflowing upon the Place du Cloitre. There, 
loomed up the main fa9ade like a bouquet of stone, very 
flowery, of the most ornamental Gothic, above the severe 
Twelfth Century masonry. In the towers the bells con- 


282 


LE r£:ve. 


tinned to ring, and the fa9ade seemed to be the very glory 
of this marriage, the flight of the poor girl across the 
miracle, all that shot up and flamed, witli the pierced lace- 
work, the lily bloom of the little columns, of the balus- 
trades, of the sub-cornices, of the niches of saints sur- 
mounted by a canopy, of the gable-ends hollowed out in 
clover-leaves, garnished with little crosses and flower-work, 
with immense roses blooming forth the mystic radiance of 
their frames. 

At ten o’clock the organs thundered, Angelique and 
F^licien entered, walking slowly towards the main altar, 
between the compact ranks of the crowd. A breath of 
tender admiration made the heads undulate. He, greatly 
aflected, passed along proud and grave, in his blonde 
beauty of a young god, thinned still more by the severity 
of the black coat. But she, particularly, swelled the 
hearts, so adorable, so divine, of the mysterious charm of 
a vision. Her dress was of white moire, simply covered 
with old Mechlin lace, which held pearls, strings of fine 
pearls marking the garnitures of the corsage and the 
flounces of the skirt. A veil of old Point d’Angleterre, 
fixed upon the head by a triple crown of pearls, enveloped 
her, descended to tlie heels. And nothing else, not a flower, 
not a jewel, nothing but this light flood, this quivering 
cloud, which seemed to surround with a' beating of wings 
her soft little face of a virgin of a stained-glass window, 
with violet eyes and golden hair. 

Two a-rm-chairs of crimson velvet awaited Felicien and 
Angelique before the altar ; and, behind them, while the 
organs swelled their phrase of welcome, Hubert and Hu- 
bertine knelt upon the praying desks reserved for the 


283 


LE RfiVE. 

> 

family. The day before they had had an immense joy 
with which they were yet bewildered, not finding enough 
actions of grace for their individual happiness, which had 
added itself to that of their daughter. Hubertine, having 
gone to the cemetery once more, in the sad thought of 
their solitude, of the empty little house, when that beloved 
daughter should be no longer there, had supplicated her 
mother for a long while ; and, suddenly, a shock within 
her had straightened her up, quivering, heard at last. 
From the depths of the soil, after thirty years, the obsti- 
nate dead woman had pardoned, had sent them the child 
of pardon, so ardently desired and awaited. Was this the 
reward of their charity, for having taken in that poor 
creature of misery picked up one snowy day at the door 
of the cathedral, now ^vedded to a prince in all the pomp 
of grand ceremonies? They remained upon both knees, 
without prayer, without formulated words, in an ecstasy 
of gratitude, all their beings exhaling themselves in 
infinite thanks. And, on the other side of tlie nave, upon 
his episcopal chair. Monseigneur was also of the family, 
full of the majesty of God whom he represented. He 
shone in the glory of his sacred vestments, his face of a 
serene haughtiness, freed from the passions of this world, 
while the tw^o angels of the panel of embroidery, above 
his head, supported the shining arms of the Hautecoeurs. 

Then, tlie solemnity began. All the clergy were present, 
priests had come from the parishes to honor their Bishop. 
In that white flood of surplices with which the gratings 
overflowed shone the golden copes of the choristers and 
the red robes of the choir children. The eternal darkness 
of the lateral naves, beneath the weight of the Twelfth 


284 


L.E UfiVE. 


A • ' 


Century chapels, was lighted up that morning by the limpid 
April sun, illuminating the stained glass windows, where a 
brazier of precious stones was reddening. But the gloom 
of the nave, especially, flamed with a swarm of wax can- 
dles, wax candles as numerous as the stars in a summer 
sky. In the centre the main altar was like a conflagration 
with them, the symbolical fiery bush burning with the fire 
of souls ; and some were in candlesticks, on stands, in the 
chandeliers ; and, in front of the spouses two tall cande- 
labra, with -round branches, appeared like two suns. 
Clumps of green plants changed the choir into a gay gar- 
den, wliich bloomed with great tufts of white azaleas, 
white camellias and white lilacs. As far as the depths of 
the arch sparkled vistas of gold and silver, glimpses of 
sections of velvet and of silk, a distant tabernacle dazzle 
amid the verdure. And, above this glow, the nave shot 
up, the four enormous pillars of the transept mounted to 
sustain the dome, in the trembling breath of these thou- 
sands of little flames which imparted a quiver to the full 
light of the lofty Gothic windoAvs. 

Angelique had decided to be married by the good Abbe 
Cornille, and when she saAV him advancing in his surplice, 
Avith the Avliite stole, folloAAxd by tAvo clerks, she smiled. 
It AA^as at last the realization of her dream ; she espoused 
fortune, beauty and poAA^er beyond all hope. The church 
sang through its organs, shone through its candles, liAxd 
through its people of the faithful and the priests. iSTever 
had the antique interior been resplendent Avith a more 
sovereign pomp, as if broadened, in its sacred luxury, by 
an expansion of happiness. And Angdlique smiled, knoAV- 
ing that she had death Avithin her, in the midst of this joy. 


LE JltYE. 


285 


celebrating her victory. On entering she ha(Jcast a glance 
at the Hautecoeiir Chapel, where slept Laurette and Balbine, 
the Happy Dead, borne away very young, in the full felicity 
of love. At this last hour she was perfect, victorious over 
her passion, corrected, renewed, no longer even having the 
pride of triumph, resigned to that flight of her being in 
the hosanna of her great friend, the cathedral. When she 
knelt, it was as a very humble and very submissive servant, 
entirely washed of the sin of origin ; and she was also very 
gay because of her renunciation. 

The Abbe Cornille, after having descended from the 
altar, made the exhortation in a kindly voice. He gave 
as an example the marriage which Jesus had contracted 
with the Church; he spoke of the future, of the days to 
live in the faith, of the children whom it would be imper- 
ative to bring up as Christians ; and there again, in the 
face of that hope, Angdlique smiled ; while F^licien, beside 
her, quivered at the idea of all this happiness, which he 
now believed fixed. Then came the demands of the ritual, 
the responses which bind for the entire existence, the deci- 
sive yes,^’ which she pronounced, moved, from the depths 
of her heart, which he spoke louder, with a tender gravity. 
The irrevocable was done, the priest had put their right 
hands the one in the other, as he murmured the formula : 
Ego conjungo vos in matrimoniuna, in nomine Patri, et 
Filii, et Spiritus sancti.’^ But it remained to bless the 
ring, which is the symbol of inviolable fidelity, of the 
eternity of the bond ; and that took time. In the silver 
])asin, above the golden ring, tlie priest shook the sprinkler 
in the form of the cross. Benedic, Domine, annulum 
hunc.’^ Afterwards he presented it to the husband, to 


286 


LE RfiVE. 


testify to hinf that the Church closed and sealed his heart, 
where no other woman should enter more ; and the husband 
put it on the finger of the wife in order to teach her in her 
turn that he alone, among men, existed for her henceforth. 
It was the close union, without end, the sign of depend- 
ence borne by her, which would constantly recall to her 
the sworn faith ; it was also the promise of a long suc- 
cession of years in common, as if that little circle of gold 
attached them until they reached the tomb. And, while 
the priest, after the final prayers, was exhorting them once 
more, Ang^Hque wore her bright smile of renunciation — 
she who knew. 

The organs then burst out joyously, behind the Abb6 
Cornille, who withdrew with the clerks. Monseigneur, 
motionless in his majesty, lowered upon the couple his 
eagle eyes, which were very mild. Still on their knees, 
the Huberts raised their heads, blinded by happy tears. 
And the enormous phrase of the organs rolled, lost itself 
in a hail of sharp little notes, raining beneath the arches, 
like the morning song of a lark. A long quiver, a tender 
hum had agitated the crowd of the faithful packed in the 
nave and the lateral naves. The church, decked with 
flowers, sparkling with wax candles, burst forth with the 
joy of the sacrament. 

Then came two hours more of sovereign pomp, the 
mass sung, with the incensing. The celebrant had 
appeared, clad in the white chasuble, accompanied by the 
master of ceremonies, two incense-bearers, holding the cen- 
ser and the pan, and two acolytes, bearing the tall golden 
chandeliers, lighted. And the presence of Monseigneur 
complicated the rite, the bows, the kisses. Every minute 


LE r£:ve. 


287 


inclinations and genuflexions made the wings of the sur- 
plices flap. In the old stalls flowered with sculpture all 
the chapter arose; and it was, at other instants, as if a 
breath from Heaven had at a blow prostrated the clergy, 
the throng of whom filled the arch. The celebrant sang 
at the altar. He paused, went and sat down, while the 
choir, in its turn, continued for a long while, grave phrases 
of the chorister, sharp notes of the choir child, light, airy, 
like archangel flutes. A voice, very beautiful, very pure, 
arose — a young girks voice delicious to hear — the voice, 
they said, of Mademoiselle Claire de Voincourt, who had 
desired to sing at these nuptials of the miracle. The 
organs which accompanied her had a great softened sigh, 
the serenity of a good and happy soul. There were 
periods of sudden silence, then the organs burst forth 
anew in formidable rolls, while the master of ceremonies 
brought back the acolytes with their chandeliers, con- 
ducted the incense-bearers to the celebrant, who blessed 
the incense of the pans. And, at every moment, flights 
of the censer mounted, with the quick flash and the silvery 
sound of the little chains. An odorous mist grew blue in 
the air; they incensed the Bishop, the clergy, the altar, 
the Gospel, every person and everything in turn, even to 
the ])rofound masses of the people, with three movements 
— to the right, to the left, and in front. 

Meanwhile Ang^lique and Felicien, on their knees, lis- 
tened devoutly to the mass, which is the mysterious con- 
summation of the marriage of Jesus and the Church. 
They had put into the hand of each a burning candle, the 
symbol of the virginity preserved since the baptism. 
After the Lord’s Prayer they had remained beneath the 


288 


LE Rf:VE. 


veil, the sign of submission, sliame and modesty, wliile the 
priest, standing beside the Epistle, read the prescribed 
prayers. They still held the burning candles, which are 
also a warning to think of death, even amid the joy of 
righteous nuptials. And it \vas finished, theotfering was 
made, the celebrant went away, accompanied by the mas- 
ter of ceremonies, the incense-bearers and the acolytes, 
after having prayed God to bless the spouses, in order that 
they might see their children grow up and multiply until 
the third and the fourth generation. 

At that moment the entire cathedral exulted. The or- 
gans began the triumphal march in such a burst of thunder 
that it made the old edifice tremble. Quivering, the crowd 
was on its feet, stood on tiptoe to see, women climbed upon 
chairs, there were compact rows of heads as far as the 
depths of the dark chapels of the collaterals ; and ail these 
people smiled, with beating hearts. The thousands of wax 
candles, in this final adieu, seemed to burn higher, length- 
ening their flames, tongues of fire which flickered in the 
arches. A final hosanna of the clergy mounted amid the 
flowers and the verdure, amid the luxury of tlie ornaments 
and the sacred vases. But, suddenly, the main door, be- 
neath the organs, thrown wide open, cut the sombre wall 
with a sheet of broad daylight. It was the bright April 
morning, the living sun of spring, the Place du Cloitre 
with its gay white houses ; and there another crowd awaited 
the spouses, more numerous yet, of a sympathy more im- 
partient, already agitated by gestures and acclamations. 
The wax candles had paled, the organs with their thunder 
covered the noises of the street. 

And, with a slow step, between the double row of the 


LE Rf:VE. 


289 


faithful, Angeliqiie and Felicien went towards the door. 
After tlie triumph, slie was emerging from the dream, she 
was walking down there to enter into reality. That porch 
of raw light opened upon the world of which she was 
ignomiit ; and she slackened her pace, she glanced at the 
active hoi’ses, at the tumultuous crowd, all that cheered 
her and saluted her. Her weakness was so great that her 
husband was compelled almost to carry her. Nevertheless, 
she still smiled, she thought of that princely hotel, full of 
jewels and queenly toilets, where the nuptial chamber, all 
of white silk, awaited her. A suffocation arrested her, 
then she had the strength to make a few steps more. Her 
glance had encountered the ring passed upon her finger, she 
smiled on that eternal bond. Then, at the threshold of the 
main door, at the top of the steps which went down to the 
square, she staggered. Had she not gone to the end of 
happiness? Was it not there that the joy of being had 
finished ? She raised herself up by a last effort, she put 
lier mouth upon Felicien’s mouth. And, in that kiss, she 
died. 

But the death was without sadness. Monseigneur, with 
his habitual gesture of pastoral benediction, aided that soul 
to deliver itself, calmed himself, returned to the divine 
nothingness. The Huberts, pardoned, returning to exist- 
ence, had the ecstatic sensation that a dream had finished. 
All the cathedral, all the town was enjoying the fete. The 
organs thundered louder, the bells rang tumultuously, the 
crowd cheered the loving couple on the threshold of the 
mystic churcli, beneath the glory of the spring sunlight. 
And it was a triumphal flying away, Ang^lique happy, 
pure, borne up, carried off in the realization of her dream, 
18 


LE E£VE* 


290 

snatched from the dark Twelfth Century chapels with flam- 
ing Gothic arches, amid the remains of gold and painting, 
to the complete paradise of the legends. 

F^licien held only a very soft and very delicate nothing, 
that bride’s dress, all of lace and pearls, the handful of 
light feathers, still warm, of a bird. For a long while he 
had clearly felt that he possessed a shadow. . The vision, 
come from the invisible, had returned to the invisible. It 
was only an appearance, which had effaced itself, after 
having created an illusion. All is but a dream. And, at 
the height of happiness^ Ang^lique had vanished in the 
light breath of a kiss. 


THE END; 


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The Fatal Secret,..., 
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1 

1 

1 

1 

1 


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50 
50 
50 
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Two Ways to Matrimony; or. Is it Love? or. False Pride. 

The Matchmaker. By Beatrice Reynolds. A Charming Love Story. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
The Amours of Philippe; or, Philippe’s Love Affairs, by Octave Feuillet. 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. By author of “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” 

A Woman’s Mistake; or, Jacques de Trevannes. A Perfect Love Story. 
The Days of Madame Pompadour. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. 
The LiUle Countess. By Octave Feuillet, author of ** Count De Camors.” 
The American L’Assommoir, A parody on Zola’s L’Assommoir.” 

Hyde Park Sketches. A very humorous and entertaining work. 

Miss Margery’s Roses. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers. 
Madeleine. A Charming Love Story. Jules Sandeau’s Prize Novel. 
Carmen. By Prosper Merimee. Book the Opera was dramatized from. 
That Girl of Mine. By the author of “ That Lover of Mine.” 

That Lover of Mine. By the author of That Girl of Mine.” 

Above are in paper cover ^ price 50 cents each^ or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 

PETERSONS’ SOUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Edmond Dantes. Sequel to Alexander Dumas’ Count of Monte-Cristo.** 
Monte-Cristo’s Daughter. Sequel to and end of Edmond Dantes.” 

The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of Count of Monte-Cristo.” 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to The Wife of Monte-Cristo.’' 
Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame Aux Camelias.) 
Married Above Her. A Society Romance. By a Lady of New York. 
The Man from Texas. A Powerful Western Romance, full of adventure. 
Erring, Yet Noble. A Book of Women and for Women. By I. G. Reed, 
The Fair Enchantress; or. How She Won Men’s Hearts. By Miss Keller. 
Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or $1.25 each in cloth, 

Kenneth Cameron. A Novel of Southern Society and Plantation Life. 
By Judge L. Q. C. Brown, of Louisiana. Paper cover, 75 cts.; cloth, $1.25. 

All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail P»?i«e. 


6 T. B. PET'RIIISON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIOHS, 


PETERSONS’ SaiJARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Major Jones's Courtship. 21 Illustrations Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Geor^jia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paj>er, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Simon Suggs’ Adventures. 10 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Louisiana Swamp Doctor. 6 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1,00. 
The Initials. *A. Z.’ By Baroness Tautphoeus. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25. 
Indiana! A Love Story. By George Sand. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Consuelo. By George Sand. Paper cover. Price 75 cents j cloth, $1.00. 
Countess of Rudolstadt. Sequel to Consuelo. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Harry Coverdale’s Court jhip and Marriage. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.50, 
Those Pretty St. George Girls, Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, gilt, $1.00, 
Vidocq ! The French Detective. Illustrated. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Black Venus. By Adolphe Belot. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
La Grange Florine. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
The Stranglers of Paris. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Mark Maynard’s Wife. By Frankie F. King. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
The Master of L’Ftrange. By Eugene Hall. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .25. 
Dora’s Device. By George R. Gather. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Snob Papers. A Book Full of Roaring Fun. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Karan Kringle’s Courtship and Journal. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50, 
The Prairie Flower, and Leni-Leoti. Paper cover, 75 cents, clotk, $1.00. 
Monsieur, Madame, and the Baby. Paper cover, 75 cenfs, cloth, $1.00. 
L’Evang61iste. By Alphonse Daudet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Duchesse Undine. By II. Penn Diltz. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Hidden Record. By E. W. Blaisdell. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Russian Princess. By Emmanuel Gonzales. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
A Woman’s Perils ; or. Driven from Home. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Fascinating Woman. By Edmond Adam. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
La Faustin. By Edmond de Goncourt. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Monsieur Le Ministre. By Jules Claretie. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Winning the Battle ; or. One Girl in 10,000. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Child of Israel. By Edouard Cadol. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Exiles. The Russian ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
My Hero. A Love Story. By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Paul Hart; or. The Love of His Life. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Mildred’s Cadet; or, Hearts and Bell-Buttons. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1-00. 
Bellah. A Love Story. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .00. 
Sabine’s Falsehood. A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Linda ; or. The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25. 
The Woman in Black. Illustrated Cover. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Madame Bovary. By Gustave Flaubert. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Count de Camors. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
How She Won Him! A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Angele’s Fortune. By Andre Theuriet. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
St. Maur; or, An Earl’s Wooing. Paper cover, price 75 cents, cloth, $1 25. 
The Prince of Breffny. By Thomas P. May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.50. 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

Francatelli’s Modern Cook Book for 1888. Enlarged Edition. With the 
most approved methods of French, English, German, and Italian Cook- 
ery. With 62 Illustrations. 600 pages, morocco cloth, price $5.00, 

All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.# 
will be sent to any one. postage paid, on receipt of Retail PrioA- 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


MRS. F. H. BURNETT’S NOVELLETTES. 

Kathleen. A Lov’^e Story. By author of “That Lass o’ Lowries’* 

Theo. A Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen,” ^‘Miss Cresplgny.’* 
Lindsay’s Luck. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson I3urnett. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of “ Kathleen,” “ Theo,” etc. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Burnett, author of “That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Miss Crespigny, also Jarl’s Daughter. By Mrs. Burnett, 

Above are in paper covers price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S CHARMING NOVELS. 

Zitka; or. The Trials of Ra'issa. A Russian Love Story, from which tho 
Popular Play of “ Zitka” was dramatized. By Henry Greville. 

The Princess Ogherof. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

The Princess Roubine. A Bnssian Love Story, By Henry Griville, 
Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “ Markof.” 
Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Russian Story. By Henry Greville. 
Tania’s Peril. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Lucie Rodey. A Charming Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville, 
Xenie’s Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Gr6ville. 
Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Mam’zelle Eugenie. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 
Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze. By Henry Greville. 

A Friend; or, “ L’Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 
Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, 

Sylvie’s Betrothed. A Charmimj Novel. By Henry Griville. 

Philomene’s Marriages. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, 

Guy’s Marriage; also Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Griville, 
Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each, 

Markof, the Russian Violinist. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.50, 

THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES.” 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. Illustrated. Paper cover, $1.00, cloth, $1.50, 
Edmond Dantes. Sequel to “ Monte-Cristo.” Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1 25. 
Moute-Cristo’s Daughter. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25, 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, $1.00, morocco cloth, $1.50. 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo, Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25, 

The Son of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25, 

BOOKS BY AUTHOR OF “A HEART TWICE WON.” 

A Heart Twice Won; or. Second Love. A Love Story. By Mrs. Eliza- 
beth Van Loon. Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1 50. 

Under the Willows; or. The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 
The Shadow of Hampton Me:id. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 

The Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel. By Mrs. Elizabeth Vamk 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 

^ » 

All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
will bo sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price. 



MONTE-CRTSTO’S DAUGHTER. Sequel to Alexander Dumas' Cele» 
brated Novel of “ Count of Monte-Cristof and Conclusion of ^*Ddmona 
DanthP With an Illustrated Cover, with Portrait of Monte- Cristo's Daugh- 
ter, Zuleikaf on it. Every perso7t that has 7'ead “ The Count of Monte- C)‘isto'\ 
should get Mo7tte-Cristo' s Datighter" at once, and read it. It is Complete iif 
one large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or ^1.25 in cloth. 

BDIVIOND DANTES. The Sequel to “ 77 /^ Cozmt of Monte- Cristo," by Ale sl- 
ander Dumas. Ed7iiond Da7itis" is one of the most wonderful romances eve) 
issued. Just at the point where Cotmt of Monte-Cristo" ends, ^^Ed7?i07ia 

Dantes" takes up the fascinating narrative and continues it with maivellout 
power and absorbing interest unto the end. Eve7y perso7i that has read ^'•Th, 
Coiuit of Monte- C7'istof should get EdmoJid Dantes" at 07ice, and 7'ead ii 
Complete in one large duodecimo volume, paper, price 75 cents, or ^1.25 in cloth 

THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO. Petersons' M'eiu Illustratec 
Edition. By Alexander Du7)ias. With full-page Engravings, illustrative of va 
rious scenes in the work. Petersons' Edition of 1 he Cotmt of Mo7ttc-Cristo'‘ 

is the 07ily Complete and Uttabridged Editioti of it ever t7'attslated, and it is con 
ceded by all to be the greatest as well as the most exciting and best historical 
novel ever printed. Complete in one large octavo volume of six hundred pages,, 
with illustrations, paper cover, price One Dollar, or $1.50 bound in morocco cloth. 

THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Continuation of Alex- 
ander Duttias' Celebrated Novel of '■'•The Count of Monte- Cristo.” With am 
Illustrated Cover, with Porlrails of " Alotite- Cristo," *‘//aydee," and their faithful 
servant, "Ali," on it. E.very per so7t that has read '■'•The Cou7it of Mott te-C7'isto" 
should get '■'■ The Wife of Monte- Cristo" at otice, attd read it. Complete in one 
large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or ^^1.25 in cloth. 

THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Sequel to - The Wife oj 
Mottte- Cristo." With an Illu.strated Cover, with Portraits of the heroines in the 
work on it. Every persott that has read “ The Count of Monte-Crisio" or "I'ht 
Wife of Mottte- Cristo f should get "The Sott of Mottte- Cristo" at ottce, and t'caa 
it. One large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $ 1 . 2 ^ in cloth. 

THE COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Companion to 
Alexattder Duttias' Celebrated Novel of '•'•The Count of Monte- Cristo f and 
fully equal to that world-renowned novel. At the very commencement of the 
novel the Count of Monte Cristo, Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, and Espe* 
ranee, the son of Monte-Cristo, take part in a weird scene, in which Merc6ddSj 
Albert de Morcerf and the Countess of Monte-Cristo also participate. Complete 
in one large octavo volume, paper cover, price One Dollar, or ^1.50 in cloth. 

Petersons' editions of" The Monte-Cristo Series " are for sale by all Booksellers^ 

ana at all N'ews Stands everynvhere, or copies of any one or all of them, will be sent t$ 

any one, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones 7vanted to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON BROTHERS, Philadelphia, T « 



Stouna D* £. X. Sontliwoiirth’’s Complete Works. 


Mrs. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS 

COMPLETE IN FORTY-THREE VOLUMES. 

SdCH IS IN ONE LARfilE DUODECIMO VOLUME, CLOTH, GILT, AT $1.50 EACH, OR $64.50 A SET. 
Copies of any one or a!! (Vill be sent to any one, post-paid, on receipt of remittances. 


/ Mrs. Soutkivortk* s works have become very popular y and they have great merits as fiction, for she 
%as zvritten many good novels for the fireside, and furnished an amazing fund of ptire and healthy 
entertainment to thousands of readers that have been, and to many thousands more to come. The 
great seoret of her hold ufon her readers is, after her inventive genius, hi framing the plots of her 
stories, and in the brisk and wide-awake manner in zvhich all the details are executed. There is no 
time for listlessness, every movement is animated : and she is noi only a popular and entertaining 
author, but a 7Horal one, as she inculcates propriety , both by precept and by the exajttple of her 
characters , which are calculated to do good to all readers. Her works should be read by all, for 
there is not a dull line in any of them, and they are full of thrillhig and startling interest. Her 
characters are drawn with a strong hand, and actually appear to live and 7nove before us. Prob- 
ably no xvriter, man or woman, in America, is as popular, or has so wide a circle of readers as has 
Mrs. Southworth. Her stories are always full of thrilling hiterest to lovers of the sensatiotial , 
and for literary merit they rank far above the zvorks of any author or authoress of works of their 
class. Mrs. Southzuorth’ s stories hazie zvon their high place by her ability, and anything with zvhich 
k*r name is identified is certain to meet zvith hearty approval. Hie foliozvhig are their names. 


LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 

Isbmael ; or, In the Depths. Being “ Self-Made.” 
Self-Raised ; or, FTom the Depths. Sequel to “ IshmaeL” 
The Fortune Seeker. The Fatal Marriage. 


The Lost Heiress. 

Tried for Her Life. 

Cruel as the Grave. 

The Maiden Widow. 

The Family Doom. 

The Bride s Fate. 

The Changed Brides. 

Fair Play. 

How He Won Her. 

Victor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

The Spectre Lover. 

The Prince of Dark ness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. 

The Widow’s Son. 

The Bride of Llewellyn. 

The Fatal Secret. 

The Bridal Eve. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 


The Deserted Wife. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linliihgow. 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy's Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia ; or, the Secret of Power. 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife’s Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homesteadc 
The Lady of the Is! e. 

Allworth Abbey. 

Retribution. 

The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow. 
The Phantom Wedding. 


Copies of any one work, or more, or a cotufilete set of ^^Mrs. Southivortk' s 
Works f will be sent to any one, to any address, at once, free of freight or postage, on 
remitting 5 1.50 for each one wanted, to T. B. Peterson Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa, 

Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BKOTHEKS, Philadelphia, Pa. 



23 Volumes, at $1.50 each; or $34.50 a Set. 


T, B. PETER“^0N & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, PhiladeljyJiia, Pa.^ 
have just published an entire new, complete, and uniform edition of all the works writ’* 
ten by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, the popular American Authoress. This edition is in 
duodecimo form, is printed on the finest p>eiper, is complete in twenty-three volumes, and 
each volume is bound in morocco cloth, library style, with a full gilt back, and is sold at 
the low price of $1.50 each, or $34.50 for a full and complete set of the twenty-three voU 
umes. Every Family, Reading Club, and every Private or Public Library in this 
country, should have in it a complete set of this new and beautiful edition of the 
works of Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, The following are the names of the volumes : 

FASHION AND FAMINE, THE REIGNING BELLE, 

BERTHA’S ENGAGEMENT, MARRIED IN HASTE, 

BELLEHOOD AND BONDAGE; cr, Bought with a Price. 

LORD HOPE’S CHOICE; or, More Secrets Than One. 

THE OLD COUNTESS. Sequel to “Lord Hope’s Choice.” 

RUBY GRAY’S STRATEGY; or, Married by Mistake. 

PALACES AND PRISONS; or. The Prisoner of the Bastile. 

A NOBLE WOMAN ; or, A Gulf Between Them. 

THE CURSE OF GOLD; or. The Bound Girl and The Wife’s Tria s. 

MABEL’S MISTAKE; or, The Lost Jewels. 

THE OLD HOMESTEAD ; or, The Pet of the Poor House, 

THE REJECTED WIFE; or. The Ruling Passion. 

SILENT STRUGGLES; or, Barbara StafTord. A Tate of Witchcraft. 

THE HEIRESS; or. The Gipsy’s Legacy. 

THE WIFE’S SECRET ; or, Gill?er?, 

% 

WIVES AND WIDOWS; cf, The Broken Life. 

DOUBLY FALSE; or, Alike and Not Alike. 

THE SOLDIER’S ORPHANS. THE GOLD BRICK, 

MARY DERWENT. NORSTON S REST. 

Above books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.50 '*ach^ or $34.50 for a com* 
plete set of the twenty-three volumes. Copies of either one or more of the above book»> 
or a complete set of them, will be sent at once to any oner to any place, postal 
prepaid, or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter to the Piibli^hersi 

T. B, PETERSON & BROTHERS, 


MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

LIBRARY EDITION, IN MOROCCO CLOTH. 

12 Volumes, at S1.50 Each.; or S18.00 a Set. 


T. B. PETETiSON & BliOTIIERS, No. S06 Chestnut Street, Phila- 
ddp’iia^ have just published an entire new^ complete^ and uniform edition of 
all the celebrated Novels written bt/ the poptdar American Novelist, Mrs. Gar- 
oline Lee Hentz, in twelve large duodecimo volumes. They are pMnted on the 
f^nest paper, and bound in the most beautif ul style, in Green Morocco cloth, 
with a new, full gilt bade, and sold at the loio price of $1.5n each, or $18.00 
for a full and complete set. Every Family and every Library in this country, 
should have in it a complete set of this new and beautiful edition of the works 
of 2Irs. Caroline Lee Jlentz. The following is a complete list of 

MES. CAEOLINE LEE HENTZ'S WOEKS. 

LINDA; or, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 

With a Complete Biography of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 

ROBERT GRAHAM. A Sequel to “ Linda.” 

RENA ; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. 

MARCUS WARLAND ; or, The Long Moss Spring. 

ERNEST LINWOOD ; or, The Inner Life of the Author. 

EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE; or. The Heiress of Glenmore. 

THE PLANTER’S NORTHERN BRIDE ; or, Mrs. Hentz’s Childhood. 

HELEN AND ARTHUR; or. Miss Thusa’s Spinning=Wheel. 

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or. The Joys of American Life. 

LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE LOST DAUGHTER ; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE BANISHED SON ; and other Stories of the Heart. 

1^^ Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.50 each, or $18.00 for 
a complete set of the twelve volumes, Cojnes of either one of the above works, or 
a complete set of them, vrill be sent at once to any, one, to any pjlace, postage 
pre-pjaid, or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. FETEltSON & BllOTHEIlS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


25 Cent Editions of "ZOLA’S” 
Nana! Nana’s Daughter! The Gir! in ScaHetl 
La Terre! L’Assommoir ! Nana’s Brother! 
Le Reve! Albine! and Helene! 

LIST or LMILE ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

li© Reve. By Emiie Zola, author of ”Nana.” Cheap edition, paper cover, 2^ cents. 

TVciim! 'I'he Sequel to “ L'Assommoir." TVmmI By Emile Zola. With a Picture o/" 
** Nana” on the co7>er. Paper cover, 75 cents; Cloth, ^i.oo. Cheap edition, paper co7>er , 2^ cents. 

I.a 'I’erre. ( The Soil.) By Emile Zola, author Nana.” This new book by Zola is creating 
a great sensation. Paper cover, 75 cents; Cloth, $1.-25. Cheap edition, paper cover, 2y cents. 

01% Nana's ]fffotl»er. By Emile Zola. With a Picture of Nana's 
mother on the coz/er. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.00. Cheap edition, paper cover, 2^ cents. 

Xaaaa’S I>aii;;'llter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great Realistic Novel of 
** Nana.’* Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.00. Cheap edition, paper cover, 23 cents. 

Tlie Oirl iia Scarlet ; or. The IjOvcs of Silver© auul Miette. By Emile Zola, 
author oi Nana.” Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cozier, 25 cents. 

'ITie .T<»I I y S*ara.sieBiiie$4. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana ” and ‘*L’ As.wmmoir,” The 
Gi>'l in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gol<l. 

Iftiieiie. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author oi “ Nana,” “ E’ Assommoir,** 
etc. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper c.^ver , 23 cents. 

The Flower and Market Grirls of iPairiH. By Emile Zola, author of Nana** 
and ” L' Assommoir ** Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

'I'he Flower Oirls of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of *’Nana,” “ L’ Assommoir ,** 

The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

^’hristiiie, the Model; or Stndies of Fove. By Emile Zola, za\\.\\ox oi Nana** 
and L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Sho|!> twirls of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store. 
By Emile Zola, autlior of “ Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Mysteries of the t'onrt of Foiiis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, author of 
**Nana” and L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Ite8i<^e: or, In the Whirlpoi»l. By Emile Zola. With a Poidr ait of Renee on the cover . 
Zola’s New Play of Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. 

Nasia's S?rotheB*. The Son of ‘‘ Gervaise ” and “Lantier” of “L’Assommoir.” By 
Emile Zola. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cover, 25 cents. 

A Mad l.iOve; or, 'I'he A3»!»e amt His t’onrt. By Emile Zola, zK\\t\\ox of " Nana’* 
and L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

tdande's t’osifessioji. By Emile Zola, author of ”Nana,’’ ” L’ . 4 ssommoir,” “Pot- 
Bouille,” “ The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Pot'Hoiiiile. By Emile Zola, author of ” Nana,” ” L’ Assommoir,” etc. With an Illustrated 
Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Alhiiae; 'i’lie Ahbe's Teinptati«»n. By Emile Zola, ^w\A\ox of Nana” and” L* As^ 
sommoir.” Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cover, 25 cents. 

The .Toys of Fife. By Emile Zola, author of ”Nana.” Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. 

Her 'fwo Hnshanils. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Ma^^daleis Ferat. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Th<^reso I5a<)^nin. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Petersons’ American '^anslations of Emile Zola* s zvorks are for sale by all Booksellers and 
at all News Stands ezieryzvhere , or copies of any one hook, or more of them, zoill be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once , post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEUSON & BKOTHEliS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Mr_ 

ant 


NA* 

NAN 
I.A ^ ^ 

THE 

NANA’h* 

E’ASSO., 

ALBINE» 

CRUEL Ak 
TRIED FO, 

THE FAMi 
THE MAID 
MARCUS Wa 
RUN DOWN. 

LORD HOPEn. 
KATHLEEN. A 
RENA; or, THE ^ 

TIIEO. A Sprightly L 
THE OLD COUNTEi 
INDIANA. A Fascinating 
WIVES AND WIDOWS ; t 
BERTHA’S BABY. Equal 


Booksellers and News Agents wu 
at very low rates^ assorted, as they may w.' 
hundred, or thousand, hy the publishers, T. .vi 

Petersons^ New 25 Cent Series’’ wiu > 
everywhere, by all Booksellers, and by all Nt 
Trains, or copies will be sent to any one, post-paid, 

T. B. PETEKSOK & BIIOTHE 


L. 


*£LENE,'* 


img produc-^ 
jt, power and 
al ardor ^ it is 
F' ranee distin- 
ife experience of 
.ow-stonn, during 
edral^ is taken in^ 
de-makers. In her 
the olden time gives 
,ral which colors her 
ling of unknown pa* 
dination, but Huberts 
'.titude. As she grows 
's brain,, and she waits 
■nne and wealthy prince 
i frame of mind F'elicien, 
'ed the priesthood, appears 
Jut the plot can scarcely be 
i a proper idea of it. ISuffice 
with a grasp not to be shaken 
licious, while the religious and 
u attraction. The account of the 
X piece of description, the meeting 
anks of the Chevrotte on ivash-day is 
jeal to the haughty bishop in the cathe- 
eur and the Huberts are depicted in the 
rnille is capitally sketched. 

volume, Paper Cover. — Price 25 Cents, 

3 and unabridged, in a. large duodecimo volume, 
all of FJmile ZoUds other works, all of which are 
chers, Philadelphia, and are for sale by all Book- 
xre. Copies of any one or all of Emile Zolals 

/ any place, on remitting price to the publishers, 

^RSOJSr & BKOTHI]IiS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa. 


25 Cent Editions of **ZOLA^S’’ 
Nana! Nana’s Daughter! The Girl in Scarlet! 
La Terre! L’Assommoir ! Nana’s Brother! 
Le Reve! Aibine! and Helene! 


LIST OF EMILE ZOLA'S GREAT BOOKS. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

IiO Rf*ve. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana.” Cheap edition, paper cover, zy cents. 

'I'hii Se jJiel to “ 1 / Asso:nmoir.” By Entile Zola. U'ith a ricture o/ 

"Nana " on the co 7 >er. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Clolli, $1.00. Cheap edition, paper co 7 >er, 2^ cents. 

In 'r(»rrp. ( The Soill) By Emile Zola, author oi" Nana." This new book by Zola is creating 
a grjat sensation. P.ipcr cov-r, 75 cents; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cover, zy cents. 

l/.Vssoniiiiolr; or, XtinaN !?IoIIior. By Emile Zola. U'ith a ricture 0/ Nana's 
mother on the co 7 >er. Paper cov-r, 75 cents : Cloth, Cheap edition, paper cover, zy cents. 

]>ail'4']ltcr. A Continuation of and Sequel to Kmile Zola's Great Realistic Nd'vel of 
"Nana.'* Paper cover, 75 cents ; Clodi, $1.00. Cheap edition, paper coz er, 2y cents. 

TJio <«lrl iu SrJirlet: or, Thr liovon of Sil voro aii<l IflioHi*. By Emile Zola, 
author of Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cover . cents. 

'riie .Tolly Pnrislpiiiies. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana " and " L' Assommoir ,'* "The 
Girl in Scarlet," etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or in Cloth, l>l..ck and Gold. 

Ilrlhii '*, A T.de of Love in I Passion. By Emile Zola, oi " Nana," " L’ Assommoir," 

etc. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper c..>ver, zy cents. 

Tlin ITi»wer anil ill.irket iiiiris of I*urN, By Emile Zola, author of "Nana” 
and " L* Assommoir.” Price 7^ cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. IMack and Gold. 

'I’hr KloWPl* OirlH of Hiirnrill (“s. By Emile Zola, author of " L' Assommoir ,” 

" ’The Girl in Scarlet," etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or in Cloth, lUack and Gold. 

i'liristiiip. Hit* 3 Ii>iIp 1 : or Stiitlics of I.ovo, By Emile Zola, 7 x\\\.\\ox oi " Nana” 
an i " L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or;^i.25 in Cloth. Black and Gold. 

'riie Girl.H of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Lirgj D y Goods Store. 

By Emile Zola, author oi" Nana." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

'I’lie MystPiries of Hit* i^oiirt of TiOiiis Napolooti. By Emile Z.ola, author of 
"Nana” and" L* Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and tiold. 

II e n e : or, 1 11 t li e Whirlpool. Bv Emile Zola. 1 Vith a Portrait of Renee on the cover. 
Zola's New Play of “ Renee" was dramitized from this book. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, $1.2^. 

Xtnio’s Brotli:>r, 'I'he Son of " Gsrvaise " and "Lantier" of " L' Assommoir." By 
Emile Zola. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1,25, Cheap edition, paptr cozier, 25 cents. 

K .llotl Love: or, Tlie Ahhe and Ills </OiirI. Bv Emile Zola, 7 \wx\m'>x " Nana” 

and " L* Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

<'onf(»HSloo. By Entile Zola, author of "Nana,'* " E’ .-Issoiiiiiioir," " Pot- 
Bouille," " The Girl in Scarlet," etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. Black and Gold. 

I*ot-I(oii!Ilo. By F.mile Zola, author of "Nana," " E' Assommoir," etc. With an Illustrated 
Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Albino: or, 'I’lie Abbe's Teni^itation, Bv Emile Zola, zxwihox oi " Nana” and " L’ As- 
soinmoir.** Paper covr, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cover, 25 cents. 

Tlie Joys of Life. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana." Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, 25. 

11 er Two lliisbailtls. By Emile Zola. Price 75 ceucs in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

]lla;;'claleil Ferat. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in piper cover, or $1,25 in Cloth, 

ThCrfeso llaqniii. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, 

Pederson V* American ’Translations of Emile Zola’s zvorks are for sale bv all Booksellers and 
at all Nezvs Stands e 7 >ery 7 vhere , or copies of any one hook, or more of then>. svill be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price 0/ the ones zvanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. is. PETERSON & BUOTHEUS, Plulatlelpliia, Pa. 


consider ^IshmaeV to he my very besi^ 
hoohr — Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth^ 


Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth’s Last and Best Book. 


MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S UREAT "NEW YORK LEDGER” STORY. 

I S H E 

OR, IN THE DEPTHS. 

BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

Being Mrs. Southworth’s Greatest “New York Ledger ’’ Story. 

ONE VOLUME, MOROCCO CLOTH.— PRICE $1.50. 

a 

MBS. EMMA jD. E. NT. SOUTHWOBTM’S COMPLETE 
WORKS. An enth'e new edition has jtist been published ^ in duodecimo form., 
printed on fine paper,, complete in forty -three volumes f by T, B. Peterson Brothers, 
Philadelphia. They cii'e bound in morocco cloth, library style, with a full gilt back, and 
sold by all Booksellers, everywhere, at the low price of each, or $ 64.50 for a com- 
plete set. Send for a complete list of them, which will be sent free on application. 

'^^^This edition contains a nc 7 o Portrait of Mrs. Southworth, and her Autograph, 
also a view of her beautiful Home on the banks of the Poto?nac, both engraved on steel. 

Southworthl s books have great originality, fine descriptions, startling 
incidents, scenes of pathos, are of pure moral tone, and should be read by everybody . 

Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth is ackncnvledged to be the greatest of all Ame?'- 
ican female writers, and a set of her books should be in every home and in every library. 

Copies of ^HSHMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS;' Mrs. Southworth' s 
greatest work, or any one or more of *‘Mrs. Southworth' s Works;' or a coryiplete set of 
*‘A'Jrs. Southworth' s Works," bound in morocco cloth, will be sent to anyf^^, to any 
address,' at once, free of freight or postage, on remitting $ 1.^0 for each book wanted, 
to the Publishers, T. B. Peterson Brothers, 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

^^^Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth' s' books will be found for sale by all Booksellers 
and jVezvs Agents everywhere . Canvassers wanted^verywhere to engage in their sale. 

Booksellers, News Agents and Canvassers will be supplied at veiy low rates, and 
they will please send in their orders at once to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia," Pa., 

and they will receive immediate and prompt attention, 





















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